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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051793">Out of the darkness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMeduse/pseuds/MadameMeduse'>MadameMeduse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bittersweet, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fix It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, jaskierismarried, no beta we die like renfri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:09:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,584</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMeduse/pseuds/MadameMeduse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anne, my fierce lamb, please meet Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, main protagonist of most of my brilliant compositions. Lost for a while, but now returning to my life as a very special stroke of destiny.” Jaskier's words were overwritten as ever, but Geralt felt that the bard stumbled upon some of them. “Geralt, please meet the lovely Viscountess Anne de Lettehove, my wife.”</p><p>------------------------------------<br/>Chapter 31. The epilogue and final chapter. Softness, forehead kisses and goat topics. Thank you for reading this. :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Freezing rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My first English fan fiction in the Witcher universe (yes, there's a German version, too, but i am not sure if I will go ahead with it). I am not an English native speaker (hello, fellow Germans!), so it would be lovely if you could ignore my mistakes or let me know if there's room for improvement. This story in progress has not been beta-ed, please forgive me.</p><p>I will bend the canon a bit for my own purposes, but this fic mainly deals with events after the first season of "Netflix: The Witcher".</p><p>So, please enjoy and don't forget to comment to help me improve my writing style!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><p>The fen lay as still as a tomb, covered in cold mist. Muddy water poured from the ground as Geralt of Rivia found his way on the corduroy road, pressing the wooden logs into the ground with his massive weight.</p><p>It had been raining for nearly the whole day. Cloudy wafts of mist were cloaking crippled birches and willows, covering up the harsh forms of the moss-covered trees in a nearly gracious way, forming and reforming every minute into new ghostly shapes.</p><p>The world seemed to be nearly untouched by human hand, all silent apart from the hum of insects, the distant bubbling of water welling up to the unstable surface and Roach's soft snorting, as the mare found her way over the slippery path, as careful as her owner.</p><p>There were paths of treaded down soil that connected the sections of the corduroy road and the footprints on the ground as well as the carefully constructed fences, made up from rotting wood and overgrown by ivy and wild berry bushes revealed that there were in fact humans around who had been cultivating the moist soil of the fen.</p><p>The red and purple berries were shining in vivid colours, contrasting the depressing environment of dirty browns, greens and greys.</p><p>The Witcher frowned and slowed down his pace, waiting for Roach to catch up. He gave her an affectionate patting on her neck, thanking her for her everlasting patience with him and praising her ability to never slip, although the ground was treacherous.</p><p>The well deserved break would come soon. He knew it from the familiar stench of peat fires, something a normal human wouldn't notice, but Geralt's enhanced senses helped him to stay oriented. The smell formed invisible traces, hovering over the endless fen like veins in a body, drawing him closer.</p><p>Autumn approached with all its might and there was a hint of sharpness nestling in the air, announcing winter's frost. Soon the first, soggy snow would fall, covering the streets of the Northern Kingdoms, turning them in a sea of mud. Then, it would be almost too late to take the path cutting deep into the Blue Mountains, leading directly to the place that Geralt equally hated and loved. Kaer Morhen. The stronghold. The Witcher School.</p><p>A place that represented the last mistake in a long line of failures. The large man pressed his lips tightly, frowned again. Thinking about the old keep, the snow covered ridges and Kaer Morhen's inhabitants felt unpleasant, so he decided to postpone any thoughts and to not being distracted by the sharp pang of regret. He shoved the unwanted feelings away, just behind that inner wall he had erected long ago to keep away any distress that would root from emotions and social ties.</p><p>He reached the village an hour later, when the sun began to set, clouded by the everlasting mists. It was typical for Redania, just a collection of simple huts and houses of all sizes, constructed with wood and peat sods. Some had stables attached, but most of the domestic animals would be held in the interior to protect them and provide warmth for the inhabitants.</p><p>All roofs were extended far downward towards the carefully compacted soil, overgrown by fen weeds where small birds were searching for insects. The crisp wind ripped away the hearth fires' dark fumes and filled the air with an earthy smell typical for the fen region. There war also a large fireplace in the middle of the village square. Red, cracking embers waited to be turned into a crackling fire of some height again in the evening.</p><p>Somebody had installed makeshift wooden barricades, equipped with lines of carefully sharpened wooden poles, between the huts and houses, to ensure that nobody would be able to intrude from the fen. The cutting edges of the poles showed that had been freshly made from the few wood that could be found around the tiny, isolated village.</p><p>The only entrance left open was the path leading to the corduroy road that Geralt was coming from and he could see that the villagers were working on more fortifications to block this path as well. As soon as the people spotted the Witcher, things went as usual. An aura of shock and angst put a stop to the peoples' world. They froze, stared, even backed off to flee or return to their work.</p><p>Geralt tried to ignore the openly hostile glances, the whispering and even the shriek of a young, ash blond girl who made a hand sign against the evil and ran back into a hut immediately. He thought of Ciri and his features hardened as he felt the change within his soul. Some months ago, the girl's disdain would not have affected him at all. Her reaction would have bounced off just like a pebble thrown at the walls of Kaer Morhen.</p><p>One house stood out because of its gable end constructed of stones and wooden framework, supporting a stonewalled chimney. More spacious, safer and warmer than all the other huts that have been created from materials that could be collected in the fen. This house's construction hadn't been cheap, Geralt thought, so this be would of course the alderman's or village chief's lodging.</p><p>And it was exactly that house's door that opened with a powerful jolt, as the wood had went out of shape due to the everlasting moisture of the fen. A tall, slender woman appeared, bowing her head so that it wouldn't unintentionally hit the door frame. She openly wore a fine sword. An air of confidence surrounded her as she turned her gaze to the visitor. Her shoulders seemed tensed at first, but then she relaxed noticeably. It was the moment of truth, of finding a balance that would decide if Geralt would be met with kind words or a lynch mob.</p><p>„Didn't expect the White Wolf himself to show up“, the woman said gruffly. Her space-filling alto voice made some villagers' heads turn in her direction. „Welcome to Norderfen, Master Geralt.“</p><p>He nodded, not reacting to the kind of flattering nickname the general public had given him to change the view on a mutant to something everybody could rely to.</p><p>„You have work to do?“</p><p>Her lips curled up in a grimace. She was wearing southern style clothing, black and golden wool, slashed artistically so that her white chemise would show. Geralt was not sure about this particular style, as the Continent's fashion did not come the be his most favourite topic, but he could guess that she came from Toussaint or Metinna. In that case, it clearly made a difference what she was wearing because it could be linked to his own survival.</p><p>The wounds of war Nilfgaard had slashed into the Northern Kindoms in the last years were still bleeding and so were Geralt's. For an instant, two slow heartbeats, he battled the impulse to just turn around and leave. But there was coin to be made and personal sensitivities had no place in his business.</p><p>His face hardened again and instead of dealing with his own distress, he tried to learn from the look on the woman's face what she was up for. Here, right in the centre of Redania, that had not yet been overrun by Nilfgaard. But he could not find any clue in her stoic expression.</p><p>The female warrior had her copper blond hair tied up in a careless hairstyle that revealed some cuts and bruises on her neck and in her face, healing already. The confrontation had been some days ago, then.</p><p>„Something I couldn't cope with“, she retorted and the look in her eyes was as vigilant as his own. As she slowly approached him, the small change of balance caused her to limp slightly. She definitely hated showing a weakness, Geralt could see that from the way she reacted. „One hundred and fifty.“</p><p>Ostentatiously, the Witcher let his amber eyes wander around Norderfen, closely examining the barricades and the makeshift fire pits that had been dug next to every house. The Witcher Contract that had led him to the village had stated „Drowners“, but these creatures seldom attacked protected areas and if they did, they could easily climb over the spiked fences that had been set up. Something was lurking outside, something bigger. Geralt knew and and the woman knew that he suspected it.</p><p>„I will take a look at it first, then we will negotiate again“, Geralt answered calmly, fingers tracing his stubble, tired of never ending games, but unwilling to give in. He would never be so careless to argue with a potential costumer whose rejection could drive him out into miles and miles of fen, death and darkness. And he was desperately out of coin.</p><p>„We have an agreement.“ The woman's answer contained a perfect amount of hesitation, making it absolutely clear that there would not be more Novigradian Crowns in Geralts purse than necessary after this job. The village was apparently poor, a normal condition for peat cutters and hunters. The price the woman was willing to pay was ten times the amount these people would be gaining in ten years.</p><p>The Witcher frowned again. It was obviously the same old story – the peasants worked themselves to death, the alderman bled them out to fund a beautiful house. He detested these people, yet he had to give the woman credit for not flinching as he let his calloused hand rest on Roach's saddle, right next to where the sheathed silver sword waited for the beginning of a bloody harvest.</p><p>“Need a place for my horse. Food. Shelter”, the Witcher hummed and the woman gave him a short nod. She was in her early twenties, not at all beautiful, but graceful and strong, standing apart from the crowd, not only because her unusual height.</p><p>“We'll see to your needs, Master Geralt.” She turned her head, totally unafraid of the mutant's presence, and raised her voice. “You can come out now.”</p><p>The door opened again and a bunch of children buzzed out onto the village square, carefully circling the spooky visitor and headed off for their own secret adventures. A peasant woman, arms on her broad hips, watched them disappear with mild amusement before focusing on Geralt. The eldest boy, all grey eyes and fuzzy, dark hair, stayed at her side, not knowing what to do. He was old enough to be part of the adult world in two or three years. Finally, the chubby woman leaned over and spoke to him in a muffled voice.</p><p>The boy stared at Geralt wide-eyed, examining the white hair, the unnatural face and the sturdy body before finally being able swallow his fear and approach the visitor.</p><p>“Master Witcher.” The boy raised one hesitant hand towards Roach's reins, unsure which party he feared the most – the unfamiliar horse or the unfamiliar man. “Mum says I need to show you the stables.”</p><p>“I will take Roach”, Geralt snapped at him, always protective about his animal friend in such an atmosphere of strange hostility and threat. The child winced and the Witcher sighed, being reminded of Ciri's reactions to his constant foul moods. So he forced himself to a lighter tone: “You can help me to tend her. She will like that.”</p><p>He normaly never let anybody touch the mare. Years ago, someone had tried to feed her poisoned grass to take revenge on Geralt. That man had ended up impaled right on his own barn door. But he could make another try, the Witcher decided and some time later, they were both giving her a good rub down and a blanket, so that the horse could finally snort happily into her portion of hay. The slightly crooked stable had been used to shelter lager animals, maybe a cow or donkeys, but these animals were gone and Geralt had not seen them in the village. Now there was only Roach and the other horse.</p><p>“That's Winter, Aunt Anne's horse”, the boy explained and lightly poked the solid apple grey with a stick to keep him from stealing Roach's food. Geralt appreciated that. “He's usually in a good mood, but now he's afraid of the swamp things.”</p><p>“Hmm.” There was nothing more to say. Every villager was afraid of the dangers of the outside world. The Witcher was able not only to see the scribbled blessings on the door frames, but also to feel, smell, taste the bitter stench of fear the humans emitted.</p><p>Social conventions urged him to find some words of comfort for the boy, but Geralt normally shat on conventions. They were made up by the rich and powerful, coating an unfair world into a sweet frosting that the poor and miserable could never understand. So they would stay at their side of the fence, stuck in their own existences' bounds, cursed to live through hunger, death and pain.</p><p>“My aunt kicked that monster's ass, but it was a bit stronger than her. The big monster, you know. Not the ones who look like grey fish people.” The boy sounded incredibly proud, but also kind of afraid. “Name's Jonathan, by the way”, he introduced himself coyly. “My aunt says -.”</p><p>“Your aunt says you promised her to help finishing the barricades for the night.” The boy's mother appeared, overlooking the whole scene carefully. Geralt had heard her, approaching him cautiously like a rabbit sneaking into the range of a wild animal. But she was obviously satisfied with what she saw and added: “And don't bore the Witcher.”</p><p>“Told me more about the threat than that sister of yours.” Geralt came to the boys rescue without even considering how offensive that sounded. But the woman just smiled at him, touching the wooden Melitele pendant she wore with her plump fingers. She was obviously the woman warrior's elder sister, more curvy, clearly marked by childbirth and the rural life, but glowing and content. Both women shared copper hair and the green eyes that resembled the moss covering parts of the fen.</p><p>The boy bolted off, grinning at Geralt shyly and joined the other children in their play, showing not sigh he was planning to help the working adults while having the opportunity to chase his sisters and brothers around the village. His mother sighed and smiled resignedly. Geralt gave Roach a soft scratch between her ears and turned to his conversation partner. It surprised him that two women were in charge in Norderfen. Could be better than elsewhere. Could be even worse.</p><p>“I am Gotlind. I prepared some dinner, join us, if you want.”</p><p>“Thank you.” The Witcher gave her a small smile and followed her instantly, draping his saddle bags over his shoulder and carrying the leather sheath that contained the silver sword in his hand. Life on the village square had shifted back to normality. If one could speak of normality with the men not being on the fields or the hunt, but building wood fortifications, following the clear instructions the woman named Anne gave. Geralt shot her another attentive look. Her limping went worse while carrying wooden poles around, her narrow face twisted sometimes, but never while speaking to the men. “So, what haunts your village, Gotlind?”</p><p>The woman nodded reluctantly, shoulders tightening as she shivered and went pale.</p><p>“We are used to Drowners, Witcher. The fen keeps what it devours. As for the larger creature - there's an old keep an hour's walk away. We don't go there because of all the horrific stories our parents told us.”</p><p>Soft crying from the house startled her and she shot Geralt an apologetic look before slipping away into her home to take care of the source of the noise. She was back a minute later, carrying a toddler on her hip and handing over a tankard to Geralt, who dropped his luggage on the bench right next to the door. He had been expecting beer or water and took a large gulp. It was hard schnapps, setting an instant fire to his intestines.</p><p>„Should have warned ya, Master Witcher. We call it 'fen in a jar', the best one in town.“ Gotlind smiled again and Geralt was not sure if the was secretly mocking him. The woman and mother lifted her head and observed the darkening sky. Dawn was approaching rapidly and the rain would soon start again.</p><p>“So, the Drowners. They never attacked the village, only the roads. And there were only one or two of them. But some weeks ago there was an earthquake. Things changed. They started to attack the animals on the small fields we have. Our sheeps just vanish. Our cow was attacked, too. Not by the Drowners, but the big one. Bite marks all black and oozing. And the Drowners are coming closer every day. Maybe the big creature brings them to do it, we simply don't know. So I decided to send some men to ask for help in the larger villages and cities.”</p><p>Gotlind shivered again and she was visibly relieved when her sister met them to take over her part of the conversation. The rain started to fall again and the female warrior cleared her sweaty face with her black sleeve, leaving a trace of mud instead. Her expression was grim.</p><p>“I saw the Witcher contracts when coming back to Redania and returned home here as soon as I could”, she explained, challenging Geralt's gaze again. It was utterly strange, but it seemed that she was trying to judge him in a way most clients weren't interested in. There was something familiar in the way she handled him. The pure absence of fear stroke Geralt as odd.</p><p>Anne shouted at some men and told them to equip the outdoor fire pits with some more peat sods. While she gestured, Geralt noticed two things he had missed so far. Her tailor-made clothing hung loosely around her slender frame. She clearly had lost some weight in the last months. And there was a very small bulge hiding under all the pleated wool of her upper garments and the beautifully ornamented leather belt.</p><p>“Two sheep went lost a week ago and I went out. Something attacked me, in broad daylight. Three to four meters, lots of eyes and legs. Not a Kikimora, I saw one of those some years ago. There are resemblances, but – it's something between spider and praying mantis.”</p><p>Thinking of a pregnant woman being torn to shreds in a damned swamp made the Witcher feel strangely uncomfortable. Seems like he was softening after being presented with a child of surprise by fucking destiny.</p><p>“Could be another variety of a Kikomora. Or a Chimera, they also vary in their appearances. Desert creatures. Should not be here. But after such a fight, you shouldn't be here either.”</p><p>He sounded grumpy because he caught himself talking way to much.</p><p>„Oh, thank you.“ Anne replied dryly, looking towards the door as the rain started to fall in earnest. She tried to shoo her elder sister and the youngest child into the house, but Gotlind waited until her other children rushed in before entering her home herself. Little Jonathan was all wet and muddy, but his aunt tousled his dark hair anyway. He shot her a somber look, obviously considering himself too old to be treated like a child, but he chuckled as he brushed past Geralt.</p><p>“It was sheer luck”, Anne said after checking all children were out of earshot. “Threw me into some bushes. It pursued me, but got stuck between some larger branches. So I got myself up, experienced a moment of dumb heroism and wounded it. That was the moment we both decided to depart.”</p><p>“Wise.“ Geralt picked up his luggage and squeezed through the door. The house was small and filled with light smoke, as the chimney could not entirely clean the air. It absolutely needed a good sweep. But the house was way more comfortable than he would expect every other house in the village to be.</p><p>Next to the entrance, some chickens dust-bathed in the ground in their small stable pen. There was a wooden bed chamber, filled with sheepskin and straw, large enough for two or three people to sleep in, and also a crib for the youngest child. The planks leaning on the walls would be put on the roof beams in the evening, allowing the older children to sleep there, untouched by rats and other vermins.</p><p>That arrangement left enough place for a long table and several benches, slowly filling with chatting children. Geralt placed the tankard on a shelf out of smalls hands' reach and leaned the sword and saddle bags against the wall. While Gotlind sent her children to prepare the meal with her, Anne ducked into the house as well, carefully minding the wooden beams.</p><p>“My brother in law, Marred, died half a year ago. The Plague”, she explained softly, catching Geralt off guard. He had not expected that she would share more personal details than necessary. “The two eldest girls and the two year old didn't survive as well.”</p><p>“Marred was the Alderman?”</p><p>Anne slightly bowed her head, ignoring Geralt's stare as she snatched the tankard the Witcher had despised.</p><p>„Good man. Intelligent. Had a hand for the business. The corduroy road, the booze recipe, the correct crop rotation on the fields. He had plans for Norderfen. A pity.” She took a sip. “My sister has the things under control since then. But it's not easy. There are some men who would love to take over. Envious men. Who never saw more than the fen and this shitty village.” She sounded truly disgusted. “Having monsters around doesn't help. Being the one person with battle experience doesn't either.”</p><p>“Not to mention a Witcher being present”, Geralt mumbled. He had not forgotten the hateful gazes. But he was a close companion to death, so this was something that naturally would happen any time he would come near humans. The woman next to him chuckled, choking the sound with another sip of booze.</p><p>“Whether it's the plague, monsters or a the Butcher of Blaviken, destiny will come upon all of us”, she explained calmly, but a sneer glittered in her eyes. “It's up to us to decide if we will face it or run away. At least the war is not here yet, Melitele be praised. I have seen enough of it down there. All those idiots throwing their happiness in life away for false salvation, crawling on their knees just like dogs.”</p><p>Geralt came to hate the word 'destiny', so he shot Anne a cold look. The last years proved that destiny neither offered the possibility to flee nor mercy. Being on the run just meant to lose everything he had loved and cherished.</p><p>“But you're still wearing Southern colours”, the Witcher noticed. He couldn't help but being reminded of the battle of Sodden Hill, the Battle of the Fourteen. All those crippled corpses in their black armour, mowed down by a merciless fire storm just like rye on a summer field. Mages, who normally pursued the egoistic and cold schemes they made up in their circles and schools, slain during their attempt to help after deciding not to just lean back and watch the world burn.</p><p>And one woman not to be found. He remembered the stern look Ciri had given him that day. The fourteen years old girl he had dragged upon the battlefield against better judgement. She had seen too much terror and it hadn't even bothered him to show her more while searching the piles of decaying bodies for hours. It had been Ciri's eyes that had given him the answer he so desperately needed. Yennefer was gone.</p><p>“I was a guardswoman at Toussaint. And I did well”, Anne shot back, just as cold as Geralt, lifting her chin, stubborn and proud. “Until some point.”</p><p>The Witcher itched to ask her if her career ended with insulting or killing a superior officer, but suddenly there was the sound of hooves outside, something he could clearly spot despite the crackling rain. He opened the door and left the house immediately. Anne followed without even asking where he was going.</p><p>It was nearly dark, a blue and grey gravity of rain and mist covered the whole village and the fen. Geralt let his senses stretch out into the twilight and help his eyes to visualize what was going on.</p><p>Two riders were approaching, dressed in warm travelling cloaks. One was a great hulk of a man, carrying a broadsword on his saddle, eyes prying on the village disdainfully. He didn't look like a man to be taken easily, scarred by battle and experience. But there was a revealing hint of nervousness in his gruff voice as he turned to his companion and yelled:</p><p>“'tis here, M'lord. Sure you'll be staying? Could be back in town in three hours or so.”</p><p>“Oh, I am really sure that I am right where I want to be, my dear henchman”, came the amused retort. The second rider threw his guard a purse, heavy with coin, then he removed his cloak's hood to look around, totally ignoring the rain and the cold. He was in his late forties, maybe older. Tall and trim, his thick, dark brown hair tied back in a neat braid and a greying beard carefully shaved to bring out his attractive and roguish face.</p><p>Geralt cursed under his breath, as the newcomer slid down his geldling's back and stared accusingly at the evening sky. The Witcher had never expected to see this man again. A person he had known for almost two decades and who seemed to have aged rapidly since their last parting. Dumbstruck, Geralt just stared. It was the other man's ironic words that finally convinced the Witcher that this was not some kind of illusion confusing his senses.</p><p>“The rain has gotten so much warmer in the last five minutes. Such a lovely place. A tiny bit of shady, though.”</p><p>“Melitele's ass, what are you doing here?” Anne left the Witcher standing right where he was,<br/>
being apparently not happy to see the late visitor. But when they met in the middle of the muddy village square, the man pulled her instantly into a warm embrace that she returned. Then the guest carefully held her at arm's length, studying her face thoroughly. His cornflower blue eyes widened with shock as he lightly touched one of her bruises.</p><p>“You're hurt, love! What happened? Did you see a healer? Did you -?”</p><p>“I am fine.” Annes voice dropped and she leaned in to whisper something in his ear, shooting a glance at Geralt. The Witcher, still a pillar of salt, felt how cold rain soaked his hair and trickled in his gambeson's collar. Finally, the visitor took notice he was there.</p><p>“Hello Geralt”, Jaskier said gently, still keeping Anne near him. “What a nice surprise.”</p><p>„Kind of“, Geralt rumbled reservedly, not wanting to tear open the rift between them again. A rift that felt like an old scar, not properly healed by now. The Witcher was unsure if the other man felt the same.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier the Bard, poet, amorist, Master of the Septem Artes Liberales, Geralt's former travel companion and herald, smiled broadly, as he took Annes damp fingers into his own. He wore wickedly expensive leather gloves.</p><p>“Have you introduced yourself properly, my dear?”, he enquired while elegantly bowing to her. She pressed her lips and her gaze promised that she would beat him up here and now if he went on with all that ridiculous courting. “I see, you missed that insignificant little detail, but I am, of course, willing to help out. Anne, my fierce lamb, please meet Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, main protagonist of most of my most brilliant compositions. Lost for a while, but now returning to my life as a very special stroke of destiny.” Jaskier's words were overwritten as ever, but Geralt felt that the bard stumbled upon some of them. “Geralt, please meet the lovely Viscountess Anne de Lettehove, my wife.”</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. To strike you with wounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt muses about the differences between men and monsters. And the choices he made that ended up hurting everybody, including himself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeah, thanks for the Kudos AND bookmarking this story. I am so excited! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„Anne, you got married? I had no idea!“ It was Gotlind's cry of joy coming from the front door that threw Geralt back into reality. The uneasy feeling of distrust and unbelief still lingered in his chest, so he tried to breath deeply and focus again.</p><p>The plump woman emerged into the pouring rain and started laughing and complaining about not having been informed yet, hugging her sister, then Jaskier, who looked startled at first, but then seemed happy to be included in the mindless chattering and scolding.</p><p>The Witcher decided to retreat from the scene, observing it from the outside. He was the first one to notice that the mercenary who had accompanied the bard the Norderfen turned his horse and rode off hastily. Geralt had smelled alcohol and fear in the man's breath. After his departure for the corduroy road, the villagers blocked the path with a barricade to be prepared for the night.</p><p>Geralt snarled scornfully at the sight of the warrior's cowardice.</p><p>“Such a shame”, Jaskier smiled sardonically, following the fleeing man with his gaze. “The Drowners will kill him right away and the money will be lost in the swamp forever. - You are not planning to save him, don't you? Good. He was an overall bad person.” The bard stretched his shoulders and went to catch his horse's reins. “Dearest Gotlind, would you be so kind to show me where I can shelter my Pegasus?”</p><p>The widow beamed with joy, obviously feeling flattered by Jaskier's perfect manners. She plucked her wet hair in a typical feminine way, expressing shyness and genuine interest at the same time. It was true, the ageing had served the bard well, Geralt observed. If it hadn't been unnatural – and the Witcher was very sure about that this was the case -, he might have considered the look as an improvement. But now, the only thing Geralt could feel was concern.</p><p>“The stable's right behind the house. I need to check on the children, they are probably going wild by now. Anne, please show him around.”</p><p>“Yes, that would be lovely, my dear. Give me the lay- down...no, the low-down I deserve.” The bard's smirk widened into an annoyingly saucy grin. Anne sighed severely, clearly not being the blushing bride impatiently welcoming her lover. She seemed to be uneasy and at the brink of a nervous breakdown. Geralt could rely, sort of.</p><p>“I wished you had stayed at Oxenfurt”, Jaskiers wife murmured lowly and then remembered Geralt was still around. Her voice dropped again. “We will talk about this later. Give me that damn horse of yours and get inside, Julian. And please try not to mess up things.”</p><p>The bard bowed dramatically, handing over the reins without even hesitating. He smiled again, all bright and sunny, but as his eyes wandered over Annes bruised face and the slightly curved belly, he sighed and furrowed his brow, suddenly showing his concern.</p><p>Then Jaskier visibly got a grip on himself and returned to the expression Geralt secretly called “the public face”. The perfect facade of a charming entertainer. The bard had always presented it when he was performing for an audience he didn't want to become aware of his true feelings.</p><p>The Witcher knew that look all to well. He had watched Jaskier perform countless times, being exhausted, sore from the road, heartbroken. But the bard would just stand there, holding his precious lute, fingers plucking the strings and blue eyes turned on the observers, knowing what they wanted and giving them just that.</p><p>It looked like Geralt had manoeuvred himself into ending up as a part of Jaskiers anonymous audience. Realizing that felt like a blow to his stomach.</p><p>“And now it seems like these two lovely women left me with the grumpiest man on the continent”, Jaskier complained, but his eyes never left the young woman who disappeared behind the house, muttering lowly to his gelding. His hand fiddled on the fasting of his expensive woolen coat, lost in thoughts.</p><p>“You're free to leave, bard.” The words slipped out of Geralt's mouth. It was not the first time the poet had caught him offguard, urging him to snap back in defence. If Jaskier was out for it, his tongue would be a pointy stiletto, piercing its way just to the point where people were vulnerable. And when Geralt stroke back instinctively, his slashes lacked the elegant, purposive style Jaskier used to gently tease his companions or even foes. The wounds Geralt caused were deep and deadly.</p><p>„To take me off your hands? I think I heard that before.“ The Wichter was prepared for any sort of emotional retort. Jaskier had always spoken his mind when something bothered or hurt him. Not this time. The bard just nodded and turned to follow his new found sister in law into the warm cosiness of the house. “Never thought you'd be a man who repeats himself, Geralt. - And the name is Julian, not Jaskier, thank you very much. I am not performing any more.”</p><p>The Witchers hand shot out and grabbed the bard by the elbow, pulling him back.</p><p>„What happened, Jaskier?“, Geralt growled, losing his temper. There were so many possible answers to that particular question, Jaskier would sure choose the most cryptic one and then head off again. So the Witcher made use of the one thing he had fairly mastered – his physical strength.</p><p>It was useless to compete with Jaskier in a duel of wits because he clearly would be the loser right from the start. None of Geralts words had ever been good enough to make clear what he wanted to express, no matter how much he had tried to get things right.</p><p>He had accepted that fact a long time ago, when he was a little boy, torn apart by the terrible suffering that came with being transferred into a Witcher. While the other boys in the dormitories of Kaer Morhen wailed and cried for their mothers, Geralt had remained silent, getting used to handling himself quite efficiently.</p><p>But in moments like these he questioned himself if the accurate words would have saved Renfri, so many years ago. Or if Yennefer had stayed with him after the dragon hunt if he had only tried to express what he was feeling or that he actually was planning to finally welcome Ciri in his life. </p><p>He was fully aware that he was overstepping Jaskier's personal boundaries again. But that was just the way how Vesemir's unforgiving lessons had made him. An abomination, only capable of hurting those who came too close. He tried to not feel ashamed, because in the end, it was in people's best interest to stay away. They could live their lives, choose a new path. They would not be hurt while following and caring about him, sacrificing their loyalty and their fading lifetime to someone who didn't deserve it.</p><p>“Geralt.” The word lingered in the moist air, full of doubt and – fear. The Witcher vividly remembered the naive young bard who started following him around twenty years ago, just like some touch deprived puppy, desperately searching for something that he would never lose again. Immortal fame.</p><p>In all these time, Jaskier had never given the impression that he feared Geralt's physical presence. Until now. The sudden realization hit the Witcher like gush of icy water. He dropped his hand immediately. It was true, he desperately needed answers but he knew that he would not receive them by using brutal force, but only by goodwill. And, to be honest, he had thrown away all chances to ever regain Jaskier's goodwill nearly two years ago. Asking for the bard's forgiveness would be pointless anyway, because Geralt felt that he didn't deserve Jaskier's pardon.</p><p>On the other hand, Jaskier deserved an excuse, Geralt knew that for sure, but he shied away from the mere idea of exposing himself so openly to another person again. What if the bard did not accept what he was offering?</p><p>He had offered himself as a last resort to Renfri. He had dedicated the djin's last wish to Yennefer, only to find out that she was not even willing to find out if their mutual attraction was really magically induced or not. Instead of trying, she had decided to leave and – died.</p><p>“Get inside”, the Witcher snarled and he thanked fate – fucking fate! - that the bard complied with his gruff order. Geralt's relief lasted for about one second, then he turned around and found himself eye to eye with fuming Anne de Lettehove, who was obviously able to approach suprisingly noiseless. “Shit.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. What it is - and what it's not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so excited I received so many kudos, thank you! This story keep spinning in my mind all day long and gosh, I hope I can concentrate on going back to my regular job tomorrow. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Instead of yelling or lashing out on him, Anne de Lettehove closed the door, creating a solid barrier between herself and family, her husband. Her face burnt, dark, full of rage.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, shit, Witcher. This is shit”, she spat as if she wanted to get rid of some rotten food in her mouth. Geralt understood that it wasn't him who had initially caused her distress. Instinctively, he had raised his hand to block a blow that didn't come, so he decided to relax. “This shouldn't have happened.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hummed indifferently. He had no idea where this connection between Jaskier and Anne rooted and he reminded himself he had no right to investigate further. It simply wasn't fair to shove away the bard at first and then forcing himself into the man's life again.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had decided to move on, to get married, to sire a child. That's what humans did. They were born, started a family, settled down, died. They were so fucking fragile. Geralt had never understood that kind of life – how could he?</p><p> </p><p>On the other hand, it was just unnatural that Jaskier has been ageing so quickly in the last months. And Geralt couldn't help but notice that the bard's wife smelled of reluctance and mixed feelings when she stood next to her husband. She definitely liked him, unmistakeably feeling at ease with Jaskier – Julian, the Witcher corrected himself - touching her and fussing about her health. But beyond that, it just felt wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Just as the way Jaskier was hiding his feelings. This wasn't a stage the bard was performing on, presenting something the audience would like to see. Or was it?</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had always been an open book, trusting Geralt to see how he really felt. Shoving the open expression of his emotions and needs on the Witcher, not caring at all if Geralt could cope with them or not. How annoying that had been, all the complaining about work in progress songs and blisters on his feet and muddy streets. How familiar.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt had never met someone who so generously shared his feelings, who was perfectly in tune with his urges, who was dangerously careless and embraced every new experience. Even things other people were terrified of.</p><p> </p><p>“Stay away from him”, Anne insisted and Geralt's distrust sprang to life again. What was this woman up to? The Witcher grumbled, hating the concern he was feeling.</p><p> </p><p>“I will finish work, then I'll take my leave”, he promised brusquely and it was the truth. He needed to part from these people as soon as possible. He wasn't going be be involved into human's life again because he knew where this was leading.</p><p> </p><p>He just couldn't stand another Sodden Hill, the feverish hunt for a loved one's body, turning every corpse on the battlefield, chasing away the crows that started to feast on dead flesh.</p><p> </p><p>Or another Kaer Morhen, his only home for nearly a century. Something he had given up willingly because he had been unable to give Ciri the reassurance the traumatized girl so desperately needed. He recalled the disappointed looks she was giving him all the time. He had left her with Vesemir and his brothers. Better men than him.</p><p> </p><p>Anne released an unsteady breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you”, she said solemnly. Geralt was baffled by the lack of fear she radiated. The woman felt uncomfortable around him, sure. But she wasn't horrified or disgusted, even though they were nearly touching.</p><p> </p><p>It had to be the stories and the songs. The noble lies Jaskier had been coming up with over and over again during their summer travels. Tunes that had changed peoples' perspective on Witchers. Sweet little words made up to conceal the bitterness of reality.</p><p> </p><p>Anne pushed into the house, finally allowing herself dive into the warmth. Geralt followed her silently. He needed to prepare for the next hours. Even if the Drowners didn't attack during darkness, he would be going out into the fen in the morning to find the keep Gotlind had mentioned. It was probably the source of the village's misery.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had sat down on an unstable bench, chatting and laughing amiably with the children and their mother. The bard had gotten rid of his winter coat, wearing a dusty blue wool doublet, flamboyant still, but matching the autumn season.</p><p> </p><p>Gotlind had generously set the table with buckwheat bread, goat cheese, eggs and poultry, keeping her children away from raiding the table until everybody found a seat. The hearth fire softly crackled when raindrops fell down the chimney. Geralt vividly smelled the animals, the food and all these dirty, wet people. He also noticed the children were afraid of him.</p><p> </p><p>The bard lifted his head when his wife and the Witcher arrived. He clearly had questions about what had just happened outside of the house, but he kept himself at bay and just offered a gentle hand to Anne so that could sit down by his side.</p><p> </p><p>One bench had been left for the Witcher and he sank down on it quite reluctantly, fearing to break the furniture with his massive weight.</p><p> </p><p>Gotlind's prayer to Melitele was short but heartily and after her warm voice faded, there was no holding back for the children. The little ones still weren't convinced that the Witcher was no danger to them, but they relaxed when Jonathan took up his courage and passed the meat plate to Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier's constant chatter also helped to lift the spirits. The bard praised every single dish as well as the womens' beauty and after finishing his meal, he started to narrate stories about his travels. Some of them included Geralt, presenting the Witcher as a white knight who saved the day every time he got involved into something.</p><p> </p><p>The children were constantly giggling and sometimes even their mother joined in when there was a raunchy detail that only adults could understand, but escaped the childrens' attention. Anne sometimes smiled, but she was in low mood. Her husband observed her from the corner of the eye, but didn't push her.</p><p>Geralt took the opportunity to rise from the table as soon as he could. He thanked Gotlind for the meal and went for his luggage, sorting out in his head how many potions and blade oils he had left for the hunt.</p><p> </p><p>“I'll be out in the stables”, he explained. The alderman's widow did not under what he was referring to.</p><p> </p><p>“But you can sleep here, Master Geralt. It's just the floor, but we have sheep skins and blankets for you. I will join the children on the beams and you -.” Her gaze touched the couple and she blushed slightly, maybe thinking about her own happy marriage. “You can take the sleeping alcove.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a strange silence. Jaskier cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“This is about getting ready for the job, dear sister”, explained the bard, raising his eyebrows suggestively so Gotlind would understand that Witcher's business wasn't something to be discussed in front of a juvenile audience.</p><p> </p><p>It had always been like this. Jaskier had not only been Geralts barker but also served as an interpreter, explaining what Geralt could not put into words. That had effecitvely prevented complications that could have cost many lives, including Geralt's and Jaskier's own.</p><p> </p><p>“I am on guard duty 'til midnight”, Anne mumbled and rose as well, focussing on collecting the dirty dishes.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you're not”, Gotlind chided and shook her head in disbelief. “Go tell the men it's their job tonight. You need to think of -.”</p><p> </p><p>“The child?”, Anne hissed, abruptly putting the dishes back on the table. The children suddenly fell silent. “I don't care -.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will take over your guard duties.” Jaskier stood immediately, seemingly troubled by what was happening between the women. The bard softly touched Anne's arm to calm her and there were so many nuances in his voice that the woman surrendered instantly.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine”, she barked and picked up her dark coat. “Good to see all of you agree.”</p><p> </p><p>The door slammed behind her seconds later and Gotlind's youngest child began to wail.</p><p> </p><p>„Oh, that lovely temper of hers. Like a hungry griffin.” Jaskier sighed, finger running through his greying beard, revealing how tired he felt. He suddenly looked very old. “I'll go after her. Geralt, I rely on you keeping everybody safe.”</p><p> </p><p>And that was it, he grabbed his cloak and went off. This time, the door closed without a sound, as the man tried to not further poison the already tensed atmosphere. Geralt knew the bard was no coward, but Jaskier had always loved being comfortable, consuming all the beautiful and pleasant aspects of life. Seeing his companion preparing for a cold night outside made Geralt realize how much Jaskier – Julian – had changed. </p><p> </p><p>The bard's trust in the Witcher, however, hadn't. Gotlind cradled her child, looking deeply confused.</p><p> </p><p>“Shouldn't she be – happy?”, the widow asked helplessly, turning to Geralt to find out if he could provide an answer. The Witcher swore under his breath, thankfully minding there were children around.</p><p> </p><p>He really needed to talk to his best friend. Right now.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Evanescence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, this is all fluffy and sad, I suppose. Maybe shed a tear or two while writing this. :) Hope you like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stable was way to small for three horses, but the animals had decided to make the best of it. They huddled together to protect themselves against the humid cold. Roach snorted and seemed pleased when Geralt leaned his forehead against hers, letting the animal's soothing company calm him down. It took several minutes.</p><p>The rain fell in sheets, obscuring the light of the peat fires the villagers kept running to scare the Drowners away.</p><p>There had been no lute case, Geralt noticed, feeding Roach the chunk of bread he'd been stealing from the dinner table. Jaskier didn't bring it on arrival.</p><p>“What do you think, old girl?”, he whispered and stroked Roach's neck gently. “It's not like him.” He became aware of the mare's greying lashes and whiskers. Old girl, indeed. She softly nuzzled his hand to check for more treats. After finding none, she shoved her head into his chest. “Yeah, maybe you're right. Things change.”</p><p>He heard Jaskier approaching, a distinctive sound mixed with the scent of labdanum and melancholia. Geralt decided to not look up, but kept fondling with Roach's mane.</p><p>“That's life. Change is a fundamental part of it”, the bard declared, taking shelter under the roof of the stable, leaning against one of the wooden beams. Geralt knew Jaskier presented a boyish smile without even seeing it. “It's not too bad after all, but it takes a while to accept. To deal with it.”</p><p>There was a long, empty silence, followed by the realization that being in Jaskier's company was surprisingly pleasant. Geralt clenched his teeth. It hurt. More than the rage or disappointment or any form of accusation he had been expecting.</p><p>It suddenly felt like not a day had passed since their paths had divided on that mountain. Geralt knew his verbal assault on Jaskier had been unjust and he had mastered to ignore the feeling of guilt that had been dwelling up from time to time. He had also tried to justify his cruel accusations in his mind. Again and again.</p><p>That day had been a moment of ultimate weakness. He had been desperately trying to pry away all emotional attachments since he was a child, left alone by a mother that never cared about him on a dusty road. Against better knowledge, he had decided to let Yennefer become the most important part of his life. Until everything went terribly wrong. He hadn't been able to bear the moment when his foolish dreams about their common future shattered.</p><p>And the bard had witnessed it all. The bard, who had never really believed that Geralt despised human affection. When the Witcher's hearthad broken in front of the bard's eyes, Geralt had known that he had exposed himself as the ultimate liar. He had known that Jaskier would have pitied him. He would have taken care of him, arranging pleasant distractions, mostly women and alcohol.</p><p>That was why Geralt had shoved the bard away at all costs. He just hadn't been able to stand it any more. Humans took care. They made him fall for them. At the end, they destroyed him or he hurt them so deeply that they never recovered. It had been the right decision to stop that endless circle of affection and loss.</p><p>Even if that meant he needed to leave his best friend behind. The one person in the world that had chosen to be with him voluntarily, neither driven by magic nor destiny itself.</p><p>Little did he know that a similar painful decision would be forced on him again, several months after the breakup on the mountainside.</p><p>Ciri. His daughter. Geralt finally looked up and met Jaskier's attentive gaze.</p><p>“I told your wife I will take my leave after my job in done.”</p><p>“She told me”, the bard nodded and exasperatedly rolled his eyes. “She also insists on accompanying you tomorrow.”</p><p>The Witcher flinched and gave Roach a regretful patting before turning away from her. The stupidity of men –  and women as well – was infinite.</p><p>“I won't take her. In her condition, she's only a burden.”</p><p>“Oh, poor Geralt”, Jaskier mocked him. “I have been a constant burden, too. You never failed to remind me of that, in that lovely, rude tone you always try to use like some sort of shield. But nevertheless, you never failed to protect me, no matter what mischief I was up to.”</p><p>“You are not trying to talk me into letting your pregnant wife join the hunt, aren't you?”</p><p>Jaskier snickered, being his over dramatic, younger self again. But his smile faded immediately after his outbreak.</p><p>“Gods, Geralt, of course not! Anne deserves the very best. What I wanted to say is – please try to be nice. Don't tell her she's a burden because if you do, she will totally ignore your objections. Find another excuse she might accept. Take care of her. She's fragile. Please.”</p><p>The Witcher snorted, hating the bard's desperate pleading. That woman was totally capable of caring excellently for herself, Geralt thought, as he brushed past the bard and opened his saddle bags to retrieve two vials of Witcher toxins. </p><p>“I will certainly not take over your job as a husband, Jaskier. Maybe you should apply what you learned from all those whores and courtesans. Might make her comply with your wishes. ” </p><p>The younger Jaskier would have been bursting with indignation before getting into a huff. But today's Jaskier didn't allow himself being provoked or reduced to silence.</p><p>“Still being ugly when emotionally distressed, hm?” The bard shook his head uncomprehendingly. “Rude, Geralt. And so unnecessary. That's something you should really work on in the future. There might not always be somebody who will set you straight. It's really a miracle that you haven't been stabbed with a pitchfork during the last months – or have you?”</p><p>“Jaskier-!”</p><p>“Julian. We recently conversed about changes, you remember that?”</p><p>“I couldn't give a shit”, Geralt growled, finally losing his temper. “And to hell with that charade you're putting up. You're not even in love.”</p><p>The truth burnt like acid on his tongue. He knew precisely how Jaskier behaved when he had fallen for some woman. It had been all about composing raving music and romantic poems all night and worshipping his beloved all day. Flowers, expensive jewellery, perfumed letters.</p><p>This was different. This was wrong. Geralt knew he had been the worst friend, but he would rather head into the fen without his silver sword than not bringing this up. Maybe Jaskier wasn't aware of the mistake he had made. Maybe he would accept Geralt's advice as some sort of reparation.</p><p>“No. I am not in love.” Jaskier's sounded tensed and allowed himself to finally reveal the hurt he had been hiding behind his well-chosen words. His voice cracked. Geralt instantly felt like shit. “But we took a liking to each other. We are tolerating our mistakes. We respect each other. I tried to work out what pleases me – maybe this is love. It could be enough.”</p><p>The Witcher was taken aback, tried to make up the words that seemed to be fitting, but failed miserably. Again. Everything he could image to say would sound selfish. He wanted his best friend to find happiness because it would help Geralt to feel less like a failure. He wanted to finally convince himself that it had been the right decision to throw away Jaskier like a piece of trash.</p><p>“I am happy for you.” It wasn't exactly a lie.</p><p>“Thank you, Geralt.”</p><p>“I've always respected you, Julian. I don't know what led you to believe otherwise.”</p><p>„Leave it be, dear. It's a thing anybody would tell a ageing human to clear his conscience. I have always preferred your honest silence.”</p><p>Jaskier's smile was fake, mask-like. The 'public face' again. The bard backed off into the rain, his cloaked figure disappearing from Geralt's view much too fast. The Witcher didn't dare to follow him.</p><p>He inhaled and exhaled slowly for three endless breaths, trying to come to his senses again. He failed. A nearby tree splintered under the blow of his fist.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I defend what's mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Monster hunting, fighting, blood, gore and pain. Should I say more? :)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A humble writer is thankful for your support! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things went spiralling down rapidly from that moment on. The first thing Geralt did after focusing on the situation was calming the horses with a short wave of Axii. The animals’ whining died away, allowing the Witcher to let his senses dive deeper into the sounds of the fen again.</p><p>His hand stung and bled from his sudden outburst, but he chose to ignore it and went on with his hunting routine. It wasn’t hard to make a decision between the arachnoid oil and the necrophage oil that would help him to get the Drowners under control. He went with the firs t– Anne’s description of the monster he was about to face were sufficient enough to consider that it was indeed the greater danger.</p><p>Thinking of that particular woman, he allowed a crooked smile to cross his lips. Even if he felt suspicious about her motives, he couldn’t deny that he had taken an instant liking to her. Not many people dared to confront a Witcher directly. Not to mention her clash with a monster. Geralt had known many warriors and only a few would have survived an open sword to claw confrontation. Maybe this unusual match between a bard and someone with Anne’s qualities was not that bad after all. She would do a good job when it came to keeping Jaskier safe.</p><p>The ceaseless rain dampened all other noises to a soft gush. The Witcher once again rearranged the order of the small vials in his belt bag to make sure he was prepared for the upcomin confrontation, for venom and darkness. Because it was indeed dark. The weather had finally made the villagers flee into their crowded homes and the small peat fires died, one by one.</p><p>Midnight went past. A cold, bone chilling wind was blowing from the North. Geralt could still hear Jaskier circling the village square over and over again, probably keeping in motion to stay warm. The bard apparently did not plan to cease his guarding shift, imperturbable in his determination to get his wife some well-deserved rest. It had always been this way. If the bard made up his mind on something, he would stick to it, even if the consequences were out of his control or to his disadvantage. Some would call this trait of his idiocy. Geralt had, too.</p><p>Almost nineteen years ago, they had decided to take a rest in a lovely village in Aedirn. The local tavern had been run by a nice couple Geralt has been knowing for years, so he had considered it a safe place. Unfortunately, some mercenaries had entered the taproom in the evening, stinking of greed and the lust for trouble. After getting drunk in no time, the armoured men had noticed that the lone figure at the corner table was indeed a Witcher. Geralt hadn’t reacted to their dull insults, until Jaskier had stepped in and told them to fuck off and leave Geralt alone. One word led to another – the bard’s phrase much more eloquent and trenchant, of course – and then, suddenly, one of the mercenaries had thrown his mug into Jaskier’s face.</p><p>They all had been kicked out of the inn in the end. After all, Geralt had knocked the stuffing out of the men and thrown one out of the priceless glass window the tavern owners had saved up every coin for years. The mercenaries had taken the only right decision and left the village, while Jaskier and Geralt had been sitting on a bench next to the well, tending to their wounds.</p><p>The Witcher had only gotten to know the bard better and so he had expected a whining, childish lament about the cuts, the black eye and the total destruction of the most beautiful face of the Continent, thank you very much. That had happened, indeed, because the bard was – well, the bard. But the one thing Jaskier had been more enraged about than his facial features was the injustice of the initial attack on Geralt's person.</p><p>After this day, the Witcher had never mistaken Jaskier's stubbornness for idiocy again. But as the expression of sincere, yet inexperienced heart.</p><p>The wolf's head medallion on his chest started to hum in the exact same moment when Geralt heard the distant sounds. Gurgling voices, wet steps. The Drowners were approaching, slow, but steadily, from two different directions. The Witcher cursed.</p><p>“Jaskier. Drowners south east”, he shouted, warning the bard about the impending danger as he chose the source of the noises in the northern direction.  A short movement of his hand and a peat fire nearby ignited despite the rain, illuminating the space between two huts where the creatures stopped immediately when they faced the light and warmth of the crackling flames. Geralt counted seven of them. The barricades wouldn't impress these kind of dull creatures just like the deadly fire did, but it would slow them down considerably.</p><p>It granted Geralt enough time to brace himself and clear his mind of all emotions. Unwavering, he waited for the Drowners' unnatural instincts – rip, kill, eat - to rush through their oozing bodies and bring them to climb over the sharp wooden poles.</p><p>His silver sword glistened in the light of the dying fire as he leaped forward. A severed head flew aside, then he ripped apart one creature's decaying ribcage. Slimy intestines flew around. Geralt hacked his way through the dark bodies. A sharp wave of Aard knocked a creature off its feet and drove another Drowner into the barrier. Pierced by  wooden spikes, it screeched and shifted helplessly, but couldn't free itself. Its head fell a second later.</p><p>There were more Drowners and they kept coming. The barrier slowly glided towards Geralt through the mud, as a wall of rotting creatures pushed against it, not minding they impaled some of their own kind while trying to break through. Their stank hit Geralts sharp senses like a dark wave.</p><p>One of Drowners managed to stand up on the middle beam of the fortification and jumped down on Geralt, as three others squeezed through the small gap between the barricade and the hut's wall. Their simultaneous attack drove the Witcher back, sharp claws shredding the chest of his rain-soaked gambeson and he ducked to cast Quen. The air around him shimmered softly as he took advantage of this short reprieve and gulped down one portion of Swallow. The vial broke under his next step with a sharp crack, as he leaped forward to attack again, hacking his way through the attackers.</p><p>The sound of a fight emerging in the south east echoed through the pounding rain. Geralt could see torches and glistening metal out of the corner of his eye and forbade himself to get distracted by thinking about the villagers – and Jaskier. He needed to end each and every Drowner at his side of the village. </p><p>As he raised his arm to cast a wave of Aard again, a slimy creature attacked from the side, aiming for Geralts neck with its claws, drawing first blood. The magical sign broke loose and hit its target in the wrong angle. It luckily shove the barrier back, smashing and impaling most of the creatures, as the Witcher had planned it. But the solid wooden construction also tore a hut's wall open and ultimately broke with a sharp crack.</p><p>Geralt knew that the situation was getting out of his hand when two of the undead creatures tackled him and a third one managed to slit his thigh open. But as Swallow sang in his blood and kept the pain away, he managed to kick his attackers off and sliced them into pieces. Panting, he stood again, dealing with the last two Drowners in cold blood, as his medallion started to vibrate more violently and he suddenly became aware of the new sound, coming from the deep of the fen, accompanied by a scent of salt water and mud.</p><p>A massive shadow appeared, gliding smoothly between the birches. Sharp claws clicked when the shape approached and Geralt saw the fire reflect in hundreds of tiny eyes, filled with pure maliciousness. Anne had been right, the Witcher thought hazily. That was no Kikkimora. Nor was it at a spider or a Chimera. It was some sort of Koshchey, a rare magical beast, created by the Double Cross spell. Geralt had never encountered one before, but there was a book in Kaer Morhen's extensive library about all the different mutations the powerful spell might turn into.</p><p>The beast was half crustacean, half arachnoid. He should have thought about this one, the Witcher scolded himself. Four strong pairs of legs strode forward towards the village. The fifth pair of legs, emerging from the well armoured body right next to the creature's head, was long and armed with huge pincers, adorned with sharp thorns and spikes. A deadly enemy.</p><p>The Witcher checked if his sword was still coated with oil and took a deep breath to focus and think. He needed to get below the giant creature to stab it through the weaker part of its shell , but it was extremely unlikely that he could do that without getting hit by the pincers. He needed to move fast and hard.</p><p>Geralt made his choice.  He was willing to take the risk. It was his fault that one side of the village was defenceless now, so it was his duty to make up for his mistake. A second empty vial fell to the ground.</p><p>Seconds later, the full effect of the Thunderbold potion set in and the Witcher's conscious world fell apart. He hardly noticed his legs started to move. He could feel the power building up in his body like a fire, rushing through his veins, blurring his eyesight with streaks of red and gold.</p><p>The first pincer missed Geralt by inches, but the second lash hit him and threw him into some trees. Something broke, maybe his ribs, maybe just some branches. Geralt rolled away, feeling the blood ripple from his neck and tights. The two potions were a perfect combination. He knew the slits were deep and that a normal human would have fainted from the blood loss by now. But Witchers weren't humans. </p><p>He bounced back to his feet again, surging between two of the creature's legs to get into the perfect position to slash upwards. The Koshchey retreated with a sudden jump, but Geralt followed mercilessly and without even thinking, took the Silver Sword in both hands to shove it up in one brutal move. It got stuck immediately.</p><p>The Kashchey screamed and stroke out wildly, legs flailing through the air. Geralt saw the pincer lashing down on him again, but he suddenly knew that he would not make it out of its range on time. That was the ultimate weakness of Thunderbolt, it took its toll every time, dampening all the defence reflexes to ensure that there was only enough energy for the one deadly strike.</p><p>I caught him in the chest and this time, he felt the thorns pierce his gambeson and chainmail in one swift blow. The impact and the sharp jolt of pain squeezed the last bits of air out of his lungs, but the Witcher felt strangely at ease. Then we fell, fell, into the gentle darkness and decided to give in.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Injustice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It took me two days to write this and phew, what a ride. Describing such complex emotions in a foreign language is hard. Time for chocolate and Netflix!</p><p>Thanks for your kudos! &lt;3</p><p>Content warning for the first time, dear readers: Mention of suicidal thoughts, blood and pain. Plus a homophobic rant. Sorry. :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt's unconsciousness had multiple layers and he had lived through experiencing all of them multiple times.</p><p>The first one was the meditation he had learned at Kear Morhen as a child. After The Choice, Vesemir had taught this unique mental technique to all Witcher aspirants, preparing them for the gruesome things to come. The meditative state was like a spiritual balm a Witcher could apply on his resting body and soul, a gentle darkness that allowed them to dive up to the surface of their minds whenever they wanted, so they could defend themselves if something threatened them.</p><p>Another layer that Geralt knew all to well was like black velvet, warm and fine as woollen blankets or a lover's arms. Bathing in it, he felt no pain because there was no connection between his mind, his body or the outside world at all. Even memories and clear thinking failed him then, but that was fine, actually. He just hovered, feeling safe and protected. That's how it had always been when he fainted from pain or blood loss. It was comforting, but also dangerously seductive. There had been times he had even considered to stay in this state, just feeling nothing at all. Until his body finally gave up and he – .</p><p>First time had been thinking about surrendering to the luring shadows had been during the Trail of the Grasses. He had woken from the merciful depths of that particular darkness and found himself lying in his own sweat, blood and vomit, weeping and crying out for his mother. But nobody had come to help him. The magicians had just cleaned his burning body and then given him more elixirs through his veins, allowing him to pass out again.</p><p>Geralts younger Witcher brother Lambert had found a fitting name for the third layer of unconsciousness. It was indeed a “Fucked up” state, where Geralt found himself fully aware that he was trapped in all of the memories, all of the physical pain and all of these overwhelming sensations attacking his sensitive senses. The fucked up thing about this condition was that he could not bring himself to wake up and so he found himself caged in his own body, being the victim to whatever would be done to him without his consent.</p><p>This time, it wasn't any different from any other experiences of waking up to find out that he had, again, survived. As always, he felt his soul was aching for a rest. But life had decided that he should go on. As it always did.</p><p>First there was a wave of pain, the stench of blood and muddy soil. Frantic hands tore away his armour and clothing, places his shredded body on a cool surface. A warm cloth carefully wiped his skin. Suddenly, the smell of blood and sweat faded and the earthy aroma of herbs and healing remedies filled his lungs. Calendula and chamomile, St. John's wort, garlic and honey.</p><p>Gentle words reached the Witcher's ears and he recognized Gotlind's voice, reassuring him that everything would be fine. A warm hand was placed on his forehead to check his temperature.</p><p>“Should we give him one of his potions, Jules?” The other female voice was surprisingly gentle. Geralt had never thought that Anne could sound be anything but rude or aggressive.</p><p>“I don't know which one he took during the fight.” It was Jaskier, sounding wrecked. “The bleeding stopped, so it might be Swallow. But we shouldn't take the risk. Another potion may kill him.”</p><p>“Will he need some stitching or will this heal by itself?”, Anne cajoled her husband into a decision, clearly reaching her limit as well. “We run out of time.”</p><p>“Could you do that, love? I would try, but – my fingers  -.” Jaskier's voice broke, thick with embarrassment. There was a sound of a light kiss and a sigh.</p><p>The Witcher had heard enough. The bard was alive, such was his new found family. The strange relief Geralt suddenly felt put him at ease and he allowed his mind to drift back into the blessed void of sleep.</p><p>Next time he woke he felt stiff and sore. He used the basis breathing exercises to relax and finally managed to open his eyes. It was broad daylight, as he could tell from the sound of birds and the constant chatter of voices outside of the house's walls. Carefully, he tried to sit up and nearly fell of the makeshift bed on the table, completely naked apart from the blanket somebody had used to cover him. There were bandages on his thigh, his ribcage and his neck, keeping herbal compresses in place. Gotlind's house, warmed by a small peat fire in the hearth, was empty, but the Witcher instantly knew the inhabitants stood outside. He could smell everyone of them. And he could smell trouble. Fear, hate, aggression.</p><p>“Things got worse when the Butcher arrived! I tell you, he's working together with these creatures. Maybe he's their master!”</p><p>“Right. We could deal with these Drowners on our own!”</p><p>“He tore down our house!” That was a female voice. Geralt felt a whiff of shame, as he remembered the mistake he had made during the fight. At the same time, anger began to clutch his throat and he carefully slipped off the table. He spotted his swords, clothes and armour on one of the blood stained benches. </p><p>“We need the money for Norderfen. Not for a mutant. He will die anyway.”</p><p>Geralt growled, although the vibration sent a hollow pain through his chest.</p><p>“Back off and go home now. If you have to say something, then you will bring it up to the village council next week.” Anne's voice, dangerously calm. “That's our tradition.”</p><p>Some men swore and one of them sneered.</p><p>“You're not part of this village any more, filthy Nilfgaardian whore! Take that monster an' the faggot and piss off.”</p><p>The Witcher staggered on his way to retrieve his belongings and needed to sit back on the table to gain a foothold. Tensions were high and the wrong word at the wrong time could plunge the entire village into an outbreak of violence.</p><p>“Don't you dare -.” Jaskier's voice, full of disgust. Luckily Gotlind cut him short. Geralt praised her wits for that decision, although he admired the bard for standing up for his wife. The Witcher scrambled to his feet again. </p><p>“You are twit, Geron. Who do you think paid for the new plough last year? Who had the grain sent to us? The building materials we couldn't afford?” The widow's voice broke while she continued. “Who gave me enough coin to buy the missing herbs to treat the Plague? I recall your wife didn't perish. - Yes, indeed. My sister. And you all could benefit from her money.”</p><p>There was a deafening silence, only interrupted by scraping feet and hesitant mumbles. Gotlind's words had made quite an impact. Jaskier cleared his throat and Geralt almost expected that the bard would lapse into one of his usual emotional outbursts again.</p><p>“I will pay the Witcher for saving your village, good people. Let me introduce myself: Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount Lettehove. As some of you may have noticed, the noble Anne and I are quite acquainted with each other. Or, to be more precise, she is my wife and I will do everything to keep her and her family safe.” It was the most polite euphemism for 'Shut up or I will kill you' Geralt had heard in a long time. So much for the 'faggot', the Witcher though grimly and finally managed to slide his legs into his trousers. They were stiff with dried morass and blood. “I will of course pay extra for any damage done last night. As I said, it is extremely important to me that my wife's family – and I suppose that you, good people, are part of her family, too – will be left unscathed by these atrocious events.”</p><p>It was of the bard's most appealing tone perfectly combined with words like “Viscount” and “money” that tipped the scales. Geralt could hear the women of Norderfen talking to their men in hushed whispers and the Witcher allowed himself to relax again the edge of the table again. He was in no condition to put up a fight, but he would have participated without a moment's hesitation.</p><p>Seconds later, the villagers' voices faded into distance and Geralt had to prepare himself for another confrontation to come up. Gotlind, Jaskier and Anne entered the house one by one and as Geralt had expected it, they all spoke at once when they realized what he was up to.</p><p>“Master Witcher, you shouldn't -!”</p><p>“Geralt, are you out of your mind? Again?”</p><p>“Oaf.”</p><p>“Should go”, Geralt rumbled. “They won't calm down until I leave.”</p><p>The Witcher tried to reach his saddle bags to find a new tunic. Gotlind waged a finger on him and he remained transfixed in his gesture. Motherly types gave him the creeps every single time. The prying eyes of Gotlind's children, who shyly observed the scene from the doorstep, were even more awkward. Young Jonathan held the youngest sibling of the family. The boy stared at Geralt's scarred body in a mix of shock and awe.</p><p>“Not like this”, the widow shot back and snorted angrily, hands in her hips. “You will need new bandages and provisions. - Anne, you shall see to this.” Gotlind suddenly turned and eyed Jaskier, whose bearded face was drawn by fatigue. “You, out!”, she exclaimed and the bard swallowed hard, clearly expecting a proper scolding.</p><p>“But why, dearest Gotlind?” The bard was indeed a brave man, Geralt thought, as he tried to resist his sister in law in his usual charming demeanour. The Witcher felt that a faint smile distorted his lips.</p><p>“Oh, shush!” The alderman's widow had reached the limit of her patience, so much was clear. The children giggled. They all knew what was about to happen. “Because I am missing half of the story and you will fill me in. Now!”</p><p>Jaskier and his wife exchanged troubled glances, but then Anne nodded, mentally overstrained and helpless in face of her sister's determination. The bard responded with a short brush of his fingertips against her shoulder and then turned to give in on Gotlind's demand.</p><p>“Be nice to each other!”, Jaskier shouted before the widow tucked her arm into his and led him away. Anne sighed and hung her head for a second, rubbing her eyes. She look as exhausted as Jaskier, dark circles under her eyes and white as a sheet.</p><p>“Thanks for patching me up.” Geralt felt it might be the right thing to say. </p><p>“Nevermind.” Anne gave him a wry smile and turned to a shelf to unpack the equipment the sister's had used during night to treat his wounds. It was not surprise for Geralt that Gotlind, who worshipped Melitele, had an a well sorted stock of salves, tinctures and dressing materials. “It's the least I can do after you saved the village. Thank you.”</p><p>Jaskiers wife rolled up the sleeves of her sweaty, but beautifully pleated linen chemise, revealing some fresh bruises from her recent fights, but also fresh scars around her wrists. Somebody had chained her up some weeks ago, long enough to cause these typical kind of sores.</p><p>“Sit properly, I need to check those wounds.” Anne demanded as she returned to her patient, hands full with fresh bandages. Incidentally, she caught the Witcher's lingering gaze and tensed immediately.</p><p>“I will take a potion. No need to make any further efforts.” Geralt responded kindly, knowing that he had been overstepping. As far as he understood women, it was time to make it up, so he decided to go for a new approach. “Did you call me an oaf earlier today, by the way?”</p><p>Anne blinked hard. She had obviously not expected that he would change the topic, but as far he could tell, she was thankful. So she pursed her lips and nodded. The scent of her fear faded away and the Witcher caught a glimpse of impish mischief in her eyes. </p><p>“Sure I did”, she retorted dryly and for the first time the woman showed him a whole-hearted smile. It was open and radiant. Geralt instinctively knew this was why Jaskier had fallen for her. The bard loved to brighten up peoples' world and would consider every of Anne's rare smiles as his personal victory. Maybe he would even compose a ballad for her, praising her lovely dimples.</p><p>The Witcher knew he should be happy for his friend, but all of a sudden, he realized that he felt betrayed. This discovery was unsettling and it went deeper than he would ever admit. Was he – jealous?</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Courage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The mutal pining has started. Lets' see where it leads us. :) Thanks for your kudos. And 3 bookmarks, already. So happy now!</p><p>CW: a bit of gore / mentions of death</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt stared down at the massive corpse of the Koshchey, resting on the muddy ground with distorted limbs, the jet black eyes staring up into the fair autumn sky. The Witcher resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. The foul odour of the Drowner's bodies on the nearby pyre stank like hell.</p><p>He had been able to save some of their tongues as discreet as possible and now he mused about taking the Koshchey's eyes as well. Selling them in the town would earn him a nice amount of coin. Maybe enough to buy provisions and return to Kaer Morhen before the 'Killer', the path leading up to the Witcher stronghold in the Blue Mountains, would be impossible to take.</p><p>Another unwelcome memory about the cold bite of Kaedwen's snow came to his mind as Gerat checked the area for villagers, but they were busy with repairs and dragging Drowners toward the pyre. So the Witcher bent down and used his knife to pry some eyes out of their socket, collecting them in a leather pouch.</p><p>He suspected why he was constantly thinking about his childhood these days. But that wouldn't do him some good. It was important that he regaind his focus when taking the 'Killer' to face the mess he had left at home. His lack of control over his emotions embarrassed him and so he turned away to prepare Roach for the road, something he could concentrate on easily. </p><p>His body still ached, but taking another potion had significantly helped to improve his condition. The villagers didn't dare to look at him directly, but he knew from their looks that they eagerly waited for any form of excuse to finally pour the entirety of their disgust over his head. His severed head, if it were up to them.</p><p>It was past midday when he returned to Gotlind's house. The weather was beautiful, even too warm, the autumn sky bright blue. The colours of the fen had changed into soft pastels, dry leaves whispered in the crisp wind. </p><p>The couple sat on the bench in front of the house, silently talking to each other. Geralt sensed the unfamiliar serenity Jaskier emanated as he took the woman's hand into his own. The Witcher decided to not disturb them and passed by at some distance.</p><p>“Sorry I didn't send you a message right away. There was so much to do. And I thought you'd be better off in Oxenfurt.” Anne explained, looking noticeably contrite. </p><p>The Witcher tried not to notice what the humans were saying, but even when he entered the stable and found two out of three horses saddled, bridled and packed, he still was within ear shot. The sight of Pegasus and Winter ready for travel caught Geralt off guard. Still irritated, he patted his own mare and reached for the soft saddle-cloth. His mare was in a silly mood and ripped it off the very moment Geralt turned to fetch the saddle. He let out a growl and tried again.</p><p>“You don't need to come with me, my wild rose. You should stay in Oxenfurt and arrange everything for us. Maybe see a midwife? My apartment could need some new curtains and rugs. There's no need to -.”</p><p>“Don't call me silly flower names or I will kick your most private parts. I will totally not choose furnitures and brocades like some useless court cringer.” The woman sounded upset, but certainly not because she had been compared to a piece of flora. “We are in this together. I will be with you, Jules. Every moment from now on, I promise. Until the end.”</p><p>There was a soft chuckle and Geralt's heart clenched. Hearing Jaskier speak about his death the night before was something the Witcher had successfully suppressed during the hunt for the Koshchey. Now that Anne brought it up again, the realization hit with redoubled force. If the bard would keep on ageing as fast as he had since their last encounter in King Niedamir's mountains, he might only have one or two years to live. Maybe only another hard winter.</p><p>Geralt's decision to return to Kaer Morhen began to falter and he clenched his teeth. Ciri deserved an excuse for his rude demeanour, but he was unsure if he would be able to explain it the way a thirteen year old orphan girl would understand. A girl he had left with the man who had played his part in changing Geralt into an abnormality out of conviction. The old Witcher had never struggled with his identity, as far as Geralt knew.</p><p>He trusted Vesemir with his life, that much was true. But the old wolf would never be kind or caring enough to mend a child's broken heart. Vesemir was impenetrable. Nothing got in. No hurt. But also – no love. And what couldn't get it couldn't get out.</p><p>For one short moment, Geralt recalled young Jaskier, running up that hill in Posada to keep up with him, volunteering as his barker. That stupid, endearing boy, heart on his tongue, would have been a marvellous friend for Ciri. And the perfect interpreter for Geralt himself to show his Child of Surprise how deeply he cared about her. But the boy was gone, consumed by years on the road with the Witcher, by amorous adventures,  heartbreaking losses and tireless dedication to his arts. Another chance gone forever.</p><p>Geralt let out another sigh and Roach sympathetically nuzzled his dirty hair.</p><p>Losing Yennefer at the battle of Sodden had shaken his world. Not only because the solitude cut like a knife during all his waking hours, but mainly because he had never been able to apologize to her. He had brutally mocked her for wishing to become a mother, not knowing how deep his own wish for a family rooted. Yenn had travelled the world, suffered and bled for the possibility to give birth to another tiny, helpless human. She had been incredibly courageous.</p><p>Being bond by a djinn's wish had very certainly played a big part in their breakup. But Geralt knew that, in the end, it had been him, denying own needs, who had driven Yennefer away. She had always known what she wanted. Geralt just wanted enough peace to sort out what it was that he really craved, but had not taken this time because he had been a coward.</p><p>People said opposites attract. But that was only true when it came to some character traits or preferences. Deciding to share a legacy, impersonated in a child, was not a point to completely disagree about.</p><p>But there was no legacy without bonding. Geralt didn't want to bond. He was afraid. It was as simple at that. But destiny had gifted him with Ciri, thrown over all of his plans, confronted him with his deepest insecurities. That is why he had fled. And was still on the move, though running in circles. Still searching for the peace to make up his mind.</p><p>“The thought of having someone around who doesn’t hate my singing is really comforting, love”, Jaskiers voice again, calm and caring. “Ah ah, don’t you dare giving me that look, I beg you. That resolute sister of yours will cut off my precious head if she thinks I would make you unhappy.”</p><p>“That's what Gotlind told you she would do? That's what I expected. But she hasn't tried it by now, so I think she might be fond of you.”</p><p>“That woman is a force of nature. I have never been so scared in my whole life. Well, maybe I am exaggerating a bit here. Have you ever encountered a Midday bride while waking from a nap in the fields?”</p><p>“Did you tell her everything?”</p><p>Another heavy silence fell.</p><p>“She is a mother, love. She knew. They all do. You will see it for yourself.” The bard went quiet all of a sudden. The words that followed were deeply troubled. “I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you never wanted this.”</p><p>“It is what it is”, was Anne's calm response, but Geralt could sense that Jaskier had touched a sore point and that she was hurting. But she clearly wasn't ready to discuss her feelings. “What about the Witcher? Have you made up your mind?”</p><p>Geralt had to admit that he wanted to know the answer as well. But there were steps approaching and Gotlind appeared, carrying his saddle bags, staggering under their weight. She looked miserably, her eyes red from crying. She had been like this since her talk with Jaskier. Geralt could only guess what had happened between them, but he was relieved that it obviously hadn't been any sort confrontation. Furthermore, Gotlind had been fussing around the bard in a protective way since they had returned from their walk in the fields.</p><p>The widow's face lit up when she handed over the bags and retrieved a small package from her apron.</p><p>“Dry meat and fruit”, she declared awkwardly. “It's not much, but winter is close and I couldn't spare more.”</p><p>“You shouldn't have”, Geralt responded gruffly, before nodding and letting some of the warmth he suddenly felt shine through. “Thank you for your kindness. I am sorry for what happened.”</p><p>“Oh, don't be!”, Gotlind exclaimed and her brow furrowed. “You saved our village from these creatures. In fact it should be me who apologizes for how the others have been treating you.”</p><p>“I am a Witcher.”</p><p>“And a good man.” The widow lifted her eyebrows in a very determined way, as she felt Geralt was about to disagree. “Master Witcher, I know all of the stories about your kind. But you tend your horse with such kind hands. You tried very hard not to scare my children. And you have been protecting Julian for twenty years, as he told me. You are a good man. Only deeds mean anything, not words.”</p><p>Geralt didn't know where to look and decided to fasten the saddle bags especially careful. That woman reminded him of Mother Nenneke and her all too knowing smiles.</p><p>“You are too kind.”</p><p>“Not at all”, Gotlind winked at him and her eyes wrinkled with tenderness, although her face was serious. “In fact, I have one last request, Master Geralt. and I could understand if you would refuse to fulfil it. We haven't yet found out where these monsters came from and why they attacked us. I feel that they can be traced back to that old keep in the fen, but we don't dare to go there. And you need to leave. So, could you – maybe you have friends who can take a look?”</p><p>The Witcher hummed. Friends? Certainly not. But acquaintances.</p><p>“I will try”, he replied gently and Gotlind exhaled, after holding her breath for a second.</p><p>“Thank you, again. See, I-.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another, kneading her apron with her hands. “You know my stubborn little sister. If she thinks we are still in danger, she will eventually return after Julian's -.”</p><p>“It's fine”, Geralt cut her short, taking the edge off with a return smile. As desperately as he needed to know what Gotlind wanted to say about Jaskier, he couldn't let the woman finish that sentence. He couldn't stand another disaster at the moment. “She will be safe.”</p><p>That was not at all what he wanted to say, but it slipped of just naturally. If Jaskier had decided to marry that sad, furious woman, Geralt would protect her as he had protected the bard. He owed Jaskier this favour. Even if he knew that Anne would hate his decision with all her heart.</p><p>Speaking of Anne, he could her and Jaskier heading for the stable, donned in their travel clothing again. The bard in the brilliant blue coat that matched his tired eyes, his silver ornamented dagger belted to his waist. He kindly chatted with young Jonathan, who stared at him with wide-eyed. Anne was dressed in her usual black wool, worn out by sun and rain. She attached her sword sheath to her saddle and repacked her saddle bags neatly, without even paying attention to Geralt.</p><p>“And you did really kill one of these Drowners?”, the child asked Jaskier in a rather inquisitorial air. “I mean, you are not a Witcher.”</p><p>Jaskier pretended to be hit directly in the heart and gasped dramatically.</p><p>“My incredulous juvenile friend, I have many years of experience in this particular area. As you can see, I am still alive, so you might come to the conclusion that I am indeed capable of facing the most gruesome creatures such as griffins, strigae, alghouls, centipedes -.” He coughed nervously as he caught the Witcher's gaze. “And I have to thank Geralt for saving me from all of them.”</p><p>Jonathan laughed out delightedly and rushed over to his aunt. He wrapped his skinny arms around her waist and held her close. From the look on her face one could tell Anne was startled, but then she ruffled this dark hair.</p><p>“Your uncle really killed a Drowner”, she told the boy and smiled down on him. “He is a brave man, you know. Maybe he is not a trained warrior like Master Geralt or me, but Julian stood up to the monsters anyway. That's what bravery is about, Jon. Accepting that you have weaknesses, that you are terrified and then – you do it because it's the right thing.”</p><p>The boy nodded solemnly, eyeing Jaskier with new found respect and headed off to join his friends in their play on the village square. The bard flushed in embarrassment and cleared his throat. He lacked his usual eloquence as he mumbled:</p><p>“Thank you, love, that was by far the nicest thing I have heard in a while.”</p><p>The Witcher felt the urge to sink into the earth and turned away to secure the silver sword on Roach's saddle. It was like being excluded from something that he hadn't even known he wanted so bad. Anne's kind words expressed something Geralt had always felt while travelling with the minstrel. It should have been his words. He should have uttered them long before being confronted with the realization that Jaskier was slowly drifting away. Towards the rest of his life, towards inevitable death.</p><p>He recalled the bard's words from the night before. The hurt. If he tried to put things right, Jaskier would take them as an expression of guilt or pity. He wouldn't believe Geralt was honest in his intentions. It was too late.</p><p>The Witcher stopped dead as Jaskier approached him.</p><p>“We think we will join you on the road back to the next village. There's a nice inn where we all could stay for the night. It's not that I am afraid that you will pass out in the saddle and scare poor Roach to death because you're ignoring some ghastly wounds. - Naw, bollocks. That's a lie. I am worried about you. Please?”</p><p>He touched Geralt's arm, light as a feather. The Witcher gritted his teeth and tried hard not to yell at the other man. The sudden bodily contact was the worst thing Jaskier could have done. The bard's hand felt real, Geralt could sense the warmth it radiated, even though he wore his blood stained gambeson again. These familiar touches, now and then, were spanning the years like a bridge. Geralt nearly choked on his voice.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Thanks, my friend. That means a lot to me.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Heat lightning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was hard to write for me. I hope I got the characterization of the boys right. Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think.</p><p>Or what you need. More conflict? More fluff? :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bright afternoon sky changed into a spectacular autumn dawn as they rode into Sunderden. Geralt had evaded the large village on his way to Norderfen the day before. Now, his promise to Jaskier and his wife would force him to stay for the night.</p><p>Had it really been just one day? Geralt suppressed a sigh and followed his companions along the main road. The village was nice and crowded. There were chalked cottages with thatched roofs, a proper fountain in the centre and also a small garrison on the outskirts. The soldiers, wearing the red and white coat of arms of the Redanian Military, hung out on a large table they had put in front of the building to take advantage of the natural light. They drank beer and played cards, shouting good-natured insults when they lost or a tankard tipped over. Most of them were dressed in their gambesons, but two men, clearly the officers, could afford to wear coat of plates over chain armour.</p><p>The soldiers' behaviour changed when they became aware of the three riders that had entered the village. The men exchanged sceptical glances and one hissed 'Witcher!' under his breath. But neither did they leave their game nor did they start to shout or throw stones. What a remarkable luck, Geralt thought.</p><p>To be honest, he was in desperate need for a rest. Roach had a very soft gait and normally riding her for hours was no problem. But the wound on his thigh, stitched and bandaged, rubbed against his saddle and the skin felt unpleasantly hot. He needed to remove the sutures as soon as possible before they caused new problems. At least the scar would be a nice one.</p><p>The day had been too warm for the season and the breathtaking contrast of the pink and orange sundown with the leaden clouds was a clear sign for a change in the weather.</p><p>The “Blue Fox” tavern was a one of two larger buildings settled at the village square. As they dismounted in front of the stable, thunder rumbled, still far away. Sunderden had been built on a hillside and overlooked the vast marshland the group had travelled. The sight of cloud towers on the horizon, illuminated by erratic heat lightning, was stunning.</p><p>“Glad we will stay for the night”, Anne said, following Geralts gaze. As her feet touched the ground, she wavered for a second and let out a sharp breath. The Witcher arched his brow and threw an interrogatory glance. She shrugged and limped towards the stable. “I am fine, Master Geralt.”</p><p>“ 'Geralt' is sufficient.”</p><p>A young man emerged from the inn's main door and rushed to help them with the horses. He had kind features, but they were disfigured by a cleft palate. Clearly intimidated by the sight of three swords and Geralt's gruff refusal of handing over Roach's reins, his eyes lit up as Jaskier smiled at him, slipped him a coin and left Pegasus and Winter to his care.</p><p>They entered the tavern some minutes later, carrying their saddle bags and supplies. The taproom was spacious and surprisingly clean, the air filled with the familiar aroma of food, sweat and beer. The tables were occupied with villagers and two soldiers letting the day fade away. A voluptuous tavern maid was busy with lighting tallow lamps with a torch and escaping the male costumers' hands. She flinched when she took note of Geralt.</p><p>“Good Sir, we are in need two rooms”, Jaskier announced politely and slid some coins to the innkeeper, a scarred man who towered behind his bar. Instead of responding or greeting them properly, he folded his massive, tattooed arms over his chest.</p><p>“Rooms are for humans. Got no place for a Witcher”, he yelled. Several heads turned and the whispers started once again. Geralt pushed back his annoyance and was quick enough to interrupt Jaskier, who was opening his mouth with a truly murderous look on his haggard face.</p><p>“It's alright”, the Witcher hummed and felt relieved when the bard stayed silent. He had always appreciated Jaskier's habit of defending him against the injustice of the world. Sadly, he had never told him. “You two get a room, I will sleep in the stables.”</p><p>The bard clearly wanted to object, but came to terms as he saw that Anne was leaning against a wooden column, eyes closed, allowing her exhaustion to finally show through.</p><p>“I will see that you are provided with everything you need”, Jaskier mumbled, still displeased. Geralt could not but smile to the bard to reassure him that he would be fine. He had stayed in too many barns and stables to be bothered by the thought of sleeping in the hay.</p><p>So he left the taproom to set up his night's quarter. The stable boy greeted him with a nervous grin as they met again in the dim stall. The young man kept on feeding and tending the three horses, being gentle in every movement. Geralt kept an eye on him as he put down his belongings in the only empty horse box, but seeing Roach closing her eyes helped the Witcher to finally relax as well.</p><p>He laid out his bedroll on the fresh straw and allowed himself to sit down at last. The stable boy left shortly, only to return with an extra blanket. With a coy smile, he presented it to the Witcher.</p><p>“Will be col' t'nght'.” The young man muttered, speech slurred.</p><p>“Thought there weren't any kind people in this town”, Geralt found himself smiling again, handing over a coin. “I was wrong. Thank you.”</p><p>The stable boy beamed and went off, closing the stable door carefully. Only a person who could truly understand the relief of not being stared at could do it the way he did it.</p><p>The Witcher slumped on the blankets and closed his eyes. The thunderstorm was approaching, he could feel it in the air. Minutes later, the first drops of rain fell and softly cluttered on the roof. The sound of water, the noises drifting through the inn's stone walls, the murmuring and  trampling of the guests, it all mixed into a soothing maelstrom of sound.</p><p>He felt tempted to begin a meditation, but there were some tasks to finish before he could finally allow himself to calm down completely. Awkwardly, he stood again and lit one of the stable's tallow lanterns with a tiny amount of Igni. The golden light allowed him to undress to braies and linen shirt to take care of his sore leg wound. The suture was indeed expertly done and it was easy to get the stitches out and wrap the wound again in a clean bandage he retrieved from his medical supplies.</p><p>His wounds on his abdomen, chest and neck were healing properly as well, but he decided to keep the stitches for another day or two. They wouldn't be a problem as long there wouldn't be any heavy friction applied on by armour or clothing.</p><p>The stable door opened again and the Witcher barely turned his head. He knew his visitor.</p><p>“So they didn't care to send anybody out?”, Geralt asked mildly, repacking his saddle bags. Jaskier, carrying a sack over his shoulder, shot him another annoyed look. His doublet was wet, as was his tousled hair.</p><p>“Really, I am fed up with this shite brute.” The bard handed over the sack. Geralt peeked inside and let out a soft hum of contentment. It would be a decent dinner. “Bribed the tavern maid. At least she's not a complete ass.”</p><p>“How is your wife doing?”</p><p>Jaskier breathed a sigh showing his relief and his lips twisted into a tired smile.</p><p>“Bruised. Pissed off, too. Washed and went straight to bed. She is as stubborn as an ox, I dare say.” The smile change into a familiar boyish grin. “Seems I have a type when it comes down to company.”</p><p>The Witcher blinked at that shameless display of truth. </p><p>“Mind joining me?” He held up the sack of food without even thinking. The bard frowned and shifted indecisively, but then he sat down, leaning into the horse boxes' wall. He crossed his legs, carefully avoiding to touch Geralt's belongings with his mud crusted boots.</p><p>The sac contained bread, cheese, eggs and ham. Not to mention a bottle of wine and some fruit cake. Measured by the speed the bard was consuming the first bites, he had starved as well.</p><p>The silence was, again, comfortable. Rain drummed on the roof, a soft thunder rolled and the horses snorted from time to time. Jaskier was of course the first one to open the wine bottle, took a mannered sip and raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“Hmm, balanced, very fruity, but there's a spicy sensation to the finish. Dead witch, I suppose”, he mused and tapped his chin. Geralt winced, taken aback by Jaskier's thoughtless words. Fresh hurt crawled up in his chest and he gritted his teeth, trying to suppress a vicious retort. The bard's bearded face instantly blushed with shame.</p><p>“Gods, Geralt, I need to apologize. That was inappropriate.” He hung his head, visibly mortified. His voice cracked. “I fucked up, sorry. I heard about Yennfer. And I didn't mean to -.”</p><p>The Witcher stared at the other man, amber eyes hard and unforgiving.</p><p>“So, is this your revenge on me? For what I said on that mountain?”, he asked hoarsely. Now, it was the bard's time to wince, but he endured Geralt's rage in silence, clearly not offended or pouting as the Witcher had expected it.</p><p>“I am so sorry”, Jaskier repeated, hands held out in a calming way. “And no, this is not a revenge. He should know me better. I am over-emotional, yes. An idiot – very likely. But I never meant to harm you in any way, Geralt.”</p><p>The Witcher let his anger flow out with his breath. Yes, he definitely knew the bard. Jaskier was intrusive and tactless, but not a person who would use a dead woman's name to win a personal vendetta. At least not against him. Maybe against Valdo Marx.</p><p>“I accept your apology”, the Witcher grumbled and resumed eating.</p><p>“Oh?” Jaskier obviously hadn't counted on the discussion to turn out this way and and took his time to lean his head on the wood of the horse box, staring up to the roof timbers of the stables. “Thank you.”</p><p>The Witcher prayed to the gods he had never really believed in that the bard wouldn't press the matter any further. But, well, he knew the man. The next words, however, weren't what he had expected.</p><p>“See, Geralt, I need to put my affairs in order. Our friendship is one of the most valuable things I had in life. You were the first person that didn't turn me down even though I was a real pain in the ass.” Jaskier's blue eyes focused on his companion again. The Witcher didn't know how to respond. This evening had felt like nothing had changed between them. But the reality had proven him wrong. He studied Jaskiers familiar features, marked by his ageing, his exhaustion and concern.  “You didn't know how to cope with your feelings and chose the only response you knew to deal with pain – you attacked me. It took me quite a while to sort that out. I will not hold this against you any more, love. Never.”</p><p>The bard's gentle smile was genuine and the Witcher felt a lump in his throat. Being an open book to somebody who called him 'love' was a disturbing feeling, like being unarmed in front of an enemy. He had gotten used to the bard's obtrusive way to choose silly nicknames for the people he was close to. Over the years, he had even mastered to totally ignore it. But now, it felt odd. His stomach churned.</p><p>“And is I know that now, I will take my leave.” Jaskier rose and patted his breeches to get rid of the straw clinging to it. He winked at Geralt, his grin teasing was teasing him again. “Too many feelings, indeed. Time for a good night's sleep.”</p><p>“Jaskier?” The Witcher struggled for words. He urgently needed answers, but couldn't get a grip on the turmoil in his head.</p><p>“I know”, the bard answered softly. “Talk to you tomorrow.”</p><p>He left.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. His life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: A panic attack / mention of nightmares.</p><p>Hope you like it anyway. We come closer to the point where all secrets will be revealed. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt was up again long before dusk and decided to get what came closest to a proper bath. The rain had ceased around midnight, leaving the morning to be humid and pleasantly cool. He left the stable building, bringing a linen towel and soap and headed for the well at the village square to wind up a bucket of water. His gaze wandered across the buildings to check if somebody was around. </p><p>It was never a good idea to be seen too close to a town's fresh water supply during the day, as there were far too many people who believed that Witchers would poison the well.</p><p>But the wide square was dead quiet except for the creaking of the well's wheel and axle. So Geralt decided to get his linen tunic off, clean himself quickly and then return to prepare Roach for the journey. He was half finished when the inn's door opened. The Witcher froze until he recognized Jaskier's wife, who shot out like she was chased by demons. She only wore her knee long pleated chemise and she was barefoot, her red hair sticking up like a cloud.</p><p>Geralt was ready to interfere within one second or less. His body tensed so he could come to immediate help. Anne reached the stable doors, found them to be open and stopped, looking around frantically. Nobody followed her. Geralt realized that something weird was going on, but nothing dangerous. He took time to put his shirt back on and and went after her. She turned as she heard him approaching and gaped at him, eyes foggy and wide, without any sign of recognition.</p><p>The Witcher could sense her panic, an acid smell he had gotten used to while spending time with humans. But he had never noticed it when Jaskier's wife was around, so this was something he wasn't prepared for.</p><p>“Anne?”, he grumbled and her thin body stiffened, before she retreated slowly towards the stable door, hands held up to as if she needed to fend him off. “I won't hurt you.”</p><p>He tried to sound serious and calming at the same time. That tone had never worked on Ciri, anyway, but maybe it would help an adolescent woman to come to her senses again. Anne blinked nervously and suddenly her eyes were clear again. The stench of fear faded away, immediately replaced by shame and anger.</p><p>“Geralt. You – scared me.” </p><p>“I call tell.”</p><p>She gave off a shaky laugh and straightened her shoulders to regain her composure.</p><p>“Just a silly dream. I'll head back inside.”</p><p>“Hmmm.”</p><p>The woman limped away and the Witcher wondered why he always found himself trapped in situations where he couldn't help at all. He had some experience with nightmares, hollowing pictures that could drain every iota of happiness out of a living soul. But a Witcher's approach to get over the panic wouldn't possibly help a human to cope with her issues.</p><p>He collected his personal items at the well and returned to the stables to finally dress and pack his bags.  Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed and reminded him that dawn was approaching fastly, but he nevertheless lit all the lanterns.</p><p>Anne came back some minutes later, completely dressed for the road, carrying her saddle bags and her sword.  She entered her horse's box and began to check on the animal. Anger hovered all around her, so she definitely wasn't in the mood to talk. Geralt wasn't either, so he decided to get another bucket from the well for the horses.</p><p>After watering Roach, he handed the half full bucket to Anne. Some minutes in the dim light and the animal's company had helped her to calm down, so she thanked him with a smile and went on with her duties, ensuring that her horse would be relaxed and ready for travelling.</p><p>“Is Jask – Julian still asleep?”, Geralt found himself asking. Anne glanced at him over their horses' backs.</p><p>“Sure. He's a heavy sleeper, you know that.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“You're tough to talk to when it comes to other topics than monsters.”</p><p>“I prefer horses.” </p><p>“Who doesn't?” Anne handed the empty bucket back to Geralt. “Could you fetch some for Pegasus, as well?”</p><p>That was quite an acknowledgement, coming from a woman who preferred to do her chores by herself, no matter how hard they turned out to be. As the Witcher returned from the village square, Anne had already begun to give her husband's gelding a proper rub to relax his muscles.</p><p>“I will accompany you to Oxenfurt”, Geralt said, entering the gelding's box to water the horse. He  waited for another outburst of emotions. But Anne just kept on brushing Pegasus' flank.</p><p>“Oh?”, she muttered, browns furrowed. “And why is that so?”</p><p>“Because Julian's guard left him and both of you are in no condition to fight”, the Witcher stated dryly. “I am.”</p><p>“We aren't going back to Oxenfurt. We head for Lettehove.”</p><p>
  <em>'See, Geralt, I need to put my affairs in order.'</em>
</p><p>Jaskier's words came spiraling back into Geralt's mind, but instead of confronting himself with the true meaning of that phrase, he just said:</p><p>“That's a three day's ride.”</p><p>At first, Anne did not respond at all, but then, she exhaled sharply.</p><p>“Listen, Geralt, this won't be easy for him. His elder brother died two years ago. It's his first visit in years. Maybe you shouldn't-.”</p><p>Her voice trailed off. The Witcher blinked in surprise, hiding it by turning away to get rid of the bucket. He hadn't know that, although he had been still travelling with Jaskier at that time. Why didn't the bard tell him about his loss? It wouldn't have been any trouble to go the the bard's home and help him to deal with his family affairs.</p><p>And what was that damned woman implying? That he wasn't  good for Jaskier, of course. Geralt wanted to object, to tell her that it wasn't her position to make these kind of suggestions. But in fact, she exactly was in the position. His friend's wife. Anne knew more about the bard's feelings and the events of the last months than the Witcher did. She wasn't the one who had hurt the bard so thoroughly that the man had run away and never turned up in her life again.</p><p>“Leave it to him”, Geralt grumbled and couldn't help himself but feeling left out again. The emotion infuriated him more than he had expected and he clenched his fist. “To decide if I join you.”</p><p>Anne softly patted Pegasus' neck before abruptly turning to Geralt and staring at him, fuming, with misty eyes all of a sudden. He realised that she was crying not for selfish reasons, but because she deeply cared about Jaskier and that left him dumbstruck.</p><p>“You don't get it, Witcher! Of course he will agree! He will be delighted!”</p><p>“Then why-?”, Geralt found himself growling at her, confused by her words and her behaviour.</p><p>“Because being with you is killing him!”, she yelled and then clapped her hand over her mouth in shock. “Crap”, she spat and flinched as Geralt could do nothing more than extend his hand. Again, his instinct told him that he needed to grasp what was happening and if he couldn't figure it out with the information he had, he would need use his strength to get a hold on the situation.</p><p>He imagined how it would feel to shake her until she willingly gave him the answers he deserved. It would be too easy. She was not match for him. It would be too easy to break her thin wrists like twigs. But he had told her he wouldn't harm her. And he suddenly thought about how he had held Jaskier's arm two days ago, a struggling captive in his grip. He recalled the wave of panic that the bard had emitted, bitter and sad at the same time. That was nothing Geralt wanted to do again. Making the few humans who didn't fear him change their opinion, proving them he was indeed a monster.</p><p> “I wished we'd never met you.” Anne stood in the corner of the horse box, her body tensed, willing to fight him off. But nothing happened. They just stared at each other and Geralt didn't know why, but suddenly there was silence. The tension eased off, the horses, who had been very attentive lately, relaxed once again. “But I guess it's too late to curse our fate, isn't it?”, she asked softly. “Because we can't change it.”</p><p>Geralt snorted uncomfortably. But he needed to let the woman know that he needed the shaky peace treaty she offered. He wasn't searching for another battlefield. A tiny voice in his head whispered that he could turn away any time and leave the whole conflict behind. But he just couldn't. It was about Jaskier. Their relation had never based on logics.</p><p>“I am killing him? How?”, he demanded to know and Anne stared at the ground, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands.</p><p>“It's not my story to tell”, she gave back, visibly shaken, but adamant as she looked at him again. “It's Julian's. I already failed him just now, I will not do that again.”</p><p>“I understand.” It was the most difficult thing Geralt had to say in the last months. It nearly tore him apart. Roach seemed to smell his uneasiness and bowed her head to lean her forehead against his shoulder. “But he will decide if I can come along. Or not.”</p><p>Annes shoulders dropped.</p><p>“Yeah”, she breathed and began to brush Pegasus coat one again. “It's his decision. His life.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Conclusion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt and Anne spend three hours in mutual silence, tending the horses excessively, ordering breakfast from the tavern maid – Jaskier's bribe clearly had been enormous enough to ensure that the Witcher would be served in the morning – and then the woman lit a pipe, stuffed with sage and coltsfoot.</p><p>The Witcher liked the scent. Most people smoked tobacco these days, if they could afford it, but he had always preferred the aroma of dried herbs. In this case, the combination was perfect for a smoker to calm down and benefit of the coltsfoot healing touch.</p><p>Jaskier eventually arrived. He yawned before settling down next to Anne and stealing the part of her breakfast she had left over. There was an easiness around them, an atmosphere indicating it was something they had often done before.</p><p>“Have you slept well, precious?”, the bard asked, smiling gently at his wife. She cleared her throat and shook her head.</p><p>“Nightmares”, she explained and her annoyed gaze wandered across the table, briefly touching Geralt. Jaskier's face changed. He had always been a good observer, so he immediately asked:</p><p>“You two did fight, didn't you?” </p><p>“I told her I would join you on your way to Lettehove”, the Witcher summed it up sourly. “And we agreed that it was your decision to make.”</p><p>“Because she told you that you shouldn't come?”, the bard asked. All playfulness had gone, replaced by sorrow. Absent-minded, he touched Anne's hand, but his eyes were still focused on Geralt. “Isn't she sweet?”</p><p>'Sweet' has not at all the word the Witcher would use to describe Anne de Lettehove. But Geralt had to praise her for her wish to keep the bard safe. If he had understood her correctly in the morning, it was his fault that Jaskier had been ageing so fast. He couldn't explain how or why, but she had been serious about it. She wasn't the person who would lie to mark her territory.</p><p>“We need to talk in private”, Anne said firmly, catching Jaskier's fingers. The grip made the bard flinch imperceptibly. </p><p>Geralt frowned, but then saw that the other man's finger joints were red and swollen. The gout, the Witcher thought and felt something heavy swell inside his chest. That was why Jaskier had said he wasn't performing any more. And why the bard hadn't brought his lute.</p><p>It had escaped his attention the night before, Geralt scolded himself and tried to figure out what has distracted him in a way that had made his senses fail him. The answer was easy, but it was hard admitting it.</p><p>Jaskier's presence had stunned him during their conversation in the stables. The way the bard had talked with his entire body, like a skilled weaver who was plucking all the strings of reality to not loose even a single one. His sweet and clean smell, the mischievous humour in his cornflower blue eyes. Everything had changed slightly, but it still was so familiar that it hurt to look at him.</p><p>“I'm with Roach”, Geralt grumbled and rose to his feet hastily. He couldn't stand the way his own thoughts were betraying him. He had not right to do what he did. “Let me know.”</p><p>The air was humid and the last colours of a beautiful purple and orange dusk slowly faded away, leaving the sky hung with dark grey clouds. It would rain again, Geralt thought and led Roach out of her box. His fingertips brushed over the scratched leather sheath of his silver sword.</p><p>There were things that were easy for him. Hunting, killing, taking the bounty. Searching for herbs at the side of the road, negotiating for pieces of armour and weapons, selling and reselling items to local traders. Easy, easy, easy. All these actions required nothing but his experience, his strength and his determination. </p><p>Being with Jaskier again left Geralt baffled, because all these traits had never helped him to understand the other man completely. He was so used to thoroughly examine what he was facing and draw his conclusions. The truth behind a specific bite mark, a too nervous smile, the distinctive movement of creatures in a dark cave. When it came to monsters or his customers , it was a question of survival, after all. </p><p>Not knowing who Jaskier really was, what he thought, what he was planning made the Witcher feel vulnerable and he hated every second of it. And hating something meant to be emotionally dependant, in a wicked, unhealthy way. Witchers never bonded with somebody for a reason. It would get them killed in the end.</p><p>Geralt had expected that a fight would erupt in the taproom of the “Blue Fox”, but it stayed awfully silent. When the bard and his wife finally left the inn, both of them looked tensed and sad. Anne went to the stables right away, not even looking at Geralt. He could tell from the look of her jawline that she was furious.</p><p>“Feel free to join us”, Jaskier said with the smallest of smiles. “But I warn you, I await nothing more than your best subject-predicate-object effort.”</p><p>“Bard”, Geralt growled, but then found himself incapable of suppressing a smirk. It had always been Jaskier's favourite way of teasing him and he had never resented him for that. Because it was the Witcher's way of giving his young companion credit for his superior intelligence. </p><p>Geralt knew about the Septem Artes Liberales. Rhetoric, grammar, dialectics, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music. Jaskier had mastered all of them in his university career and never ceased to bring the true meaning of these rather abstract concepts into their life on the road.</p><p>The bard could name all the stars in the sky, but would also praised their still beauty in his tunes. He could tell from a person's accent and word used where he or she had been brought up. He could talk Geralt and himself out of jail, out of astronomic inn bills, out of nobles' mistrust – or right into all of them, if his intelligence failed him because of his generous heart and his turbulent emotions.</p><p>“That's who I was”, Jaskier responded softly and then turned to take up Pegasus' reins Anne offered him, as she returned with the two packed horses. The woman gave the sky a discontented look. “But I don't mind you calling me that.”</p><p>The mounted their animals and settled for the road once again. Geralt decided to fall behind to allow Jaskier and his wife some privacy, but he kept a sharp eye on them, their horses and the landscape. For the first hour, the couple barely talked, but in the end, both of them were clearly not able to hold a grudge against each other for long.</p><p>Soon, they were talking about the lovely valleys of Touissant, silly student pranks at Oxenfurt university and much more topics. It surprised Geralt that the woman could contribute to most of the subjects Jaskier addressed. Considering her upbringing in a poor village in the fen, she had obviously come a long way from there to present day. No wonder Jaskier found her to be pleasant company and decided to settle with her.</p><p>Geralt had thought he knew the bard's type of woman. Of course, the artist had bedded hundreds of them during the last twenty years. Noble, flamboyant ladies, milk maidens as fresh as the fallen snow, curvy or thin, blonde or brunette. But the few women Jaskier had really adored above all of his affairs had been gifted with incredible musical talent. Essi and Priscilla. Where did a female warrior fit in?</p><p>Geralt sighed and scratched his stubble, melancholic memories unfolded in his chest like dark flowers. He felt almost relieved as the rain began to fall at midday, cleaning his head from the useless thoughts that kept roaming in his head. The Witcher needed to focus on the quality of the road, the horses' endurance and his human companions' well-being.</p><p>He observed Anne pressing her hand against her lower back from time to time, a gesture typical for a woman expecting a child. The Witcher wasn't sure how advanced her pregnancy was, but he could guess it was her forth or fifth month and she was not well. Anne's refusal to accept her condition was obvious. She was an excellent rider and experienced with the sword, he could tell by the callouses on her hand and the way she moved when she carried the weapon. No wonder she emitted anger when being held back by her pregnancy.</p><p>Jaskier began to chew fresh bark Anne peeled off a willow tree after a short lunch of dried meat and cheese. The bard's gout would worsen due to the autumn weather and so he made his preparations to deal with the pain. The sight of it deepened the lines between Geralt's eyebrows, but the thing that really stroke him as odd was the fact that Jaskier wasn't even complaining. </p><p>During all those years on the road, the bard had never grown tired of explicitly describing the full amount of his discomfort to Geralt. But the Witcher had accepted it as Jaskier's very own way of sharing his needs. It was always better to receive too much information than none at all. Even at the cost of his nerves. And Jaskier had always trusted Geralt to take these needs seriously and the Witcher had complied. Not always willingly, not always swiftly. But had had, because – the bard was important to him. Had always been.</p><p>This special trust was definitively gone. The bard had decided to suffer silently or he felt like relying to his wife. He was slipping away. Apart from Vesemir and his brothers, Jaskier was all that had been left of his Geralt's life, with Yennefer dead and Ciri being consumed by the merciless Witcher eduction. </p><p>He should have been ready for this. He wasn't. Faith was a terrible thing to be taken away from a man, because it meant he lost his future. But what kind of future did a Witcher even have?</p><p>The rain got harder as the afternoon passed and the small road they were following through the open woodland was awash with muddy water. Anne's horse slipped once, but she didn't seem to consider it as a threat. When Winter slipped again and the horse's body slowly drifted sidewards toward the ditch, she alertly tightened the reins to regain control over the animal's body.</p><p>“We will seek shelter for the night.” It was Jaskier who made the decision after reassuring himself that his wife was unharmed. Geralt nodded briefly.</p><p>They found a suitable place an hour later. A huge rock overhang the entrance of a cave that would shield the travellers and their horses from the wind and the ever present rain. It had been used as a shelter before, so much was obvious, as the discovered the remains of a campfire. After the Witcher declared it safe, the led in the horses and tended them as carefully as possible. Anne examined Winter's ankles and sighed in relief as she found no swelling or other injury, while the men searched for wood that was dry enough to use it in a fire and collected rain water in a leather fold bucket for the animals.</p><p>Later, they shared meat and dried fruit again, staring into the flames, fumes biting their eyes. They only spoke when necessary and as soon as they had wrapped themselves up in their dry bedrolls, complete silence fell. Jaskier leaned on the cave's moss covered wall, his arm wrapped around his wife who had instantly fallen asleep on his shoulder. From time to time, she flinched in her dreams and the bard caressed her hair in small, calming circles.</p><p>Geralt observed them from the other side of the fire, waiting for the bard to be taken by sleep as well, but Jaskier's blue eyes met the Witcher's gaze over the flames.</p><p>“Why are you here, Geralt?”, he whispered, his melodic voice full of sternness. “And I won't be fobbed off with a grunt or a half witty remark about how I am not able to protect myself. I know you have questions, but I will only trade truth for the truth.”</p><p>The Witcher stiffened up immediately. He wanted to tell the truth, share all the realizations of the last three days with the man who had been his best friend for years. His barker, his shield against a society that wasn't willing to look past their fears.</p><p>The same man that had made clear that he would consider Geralt's care as pity. How could the Witcher possibly talk about the mess in his head knowing that he would maybe not be taken serious. He could try, yes. But he would fail again. There was nothing to gain in hopeless battles.</p><p>“You should rest, Julian. It's been a rough day.”</p><p>“They always are, my dear. They always are.”</p><p>And as the bard finally drifted off to sleep and the Witcher studied his face, Geralt of Rivia became aware of the one thing he now knew for sure. He couldn't stand to loose Jaskier again.</p><p>Because he loved him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, it took me nearly 40 pages to make poor Geralt finally figure this out. ^^ Hope you enjoyed this narration so far.</p><p>Please leave a comment or a kudo so I will know I am not a complete idiot for hoping this story will please you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Struggles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The realization of being in love with another man, with Jaskier, kept Geralt awake the whole night. He fed the fire, collected rainwater and silently watched over the couple's sleep, surveying each movement the two humans made. The bard and his wife were slumped against each other, sharing body heat and a unique human closeness.</p><p>How did that even happen after a lifespan of nearly a decade? How couldn't he have noticed that he was even able to feel this way? The Witcher had never before craved a man's touch, even though he could completely understand being drawn to a member of his own sex. During the rough years of his youth at Kaer Morhen, he had enjoyed the company of his brothers, accepting their friendship and sometimes the comfort of some reassuring touches, but he hadn't shared more than that. Some of the other Witcher's had engaged in carnal relationships with each other, but Geralt had refused all offers that he received.</p><p>Maybe the impulse of leaning forward and simply let his fingertips rest on Jaskier's temple was born out of his grief over Yennefer's death. His unruly feelings were possibly his mutated body's strategy to cope with the immense loneliness that had weakened him far too long. A skipping behaviour that would allow him to function again normally in another month our two.</p><p>He would let it pass. There was no other option.</p><p>Anne opened her eyes as the rain ceased at dawn and frowned, rubbing her eyes with an unsteady hand. It took her some time to focus on Geralt, brows furrowed, as if she wasn't yet decided if she was awake or still dreaming. She licked her dry lips.</p><p>“Good morning”, the Witcher rumbled and passed her the waterskin. Pale morning light flooded into the cave. It deepened the purple shadows under the woman's eyes as she drank. She returned the waterskin and then moved, wrapping her husband's sleeping body comfortably into her own blankets. The bard didn't wake, as Anne struggled to her feet and held her back, stifling an annoyed groan.</p><p>“Thank you”, she mouthed into Geralt's direction.</p><p>“No. Thank <em>you</em> for taking care of him”, the Witcher said, barely audible. He didn't know why he said it, but it felt right. She just stared at him for a while, then a reluctant smile appeared on her lips. </p><p>“Sure it wasn't the other way round?”, Anne mocked him, but there was no heat in her words. She turned to the cave's entrance and checked the wheather. Soft, white fog covered the woodland, swallowing most of the noises. Geralt fed the fire one last time to keep Jaskier warm and joined her. He knew she felt like talking and it certainly wasn't wrong to speak to her. Maybe it would help him to come at ease with his feelings, seeing that the bard was well cared for. “You're welcome, by the way”, she recommenced and the corners of her mouth twitched. “It's nearly impossible to not feel protective about him.”</p><p>“Sure thing”, Geralt hummed, wondering where this conversation would lead them. “He's got the tendency to be in keech up to his chin.”</p><p>The woman sighed and scratched her chin. </p><p>“It's hard, you know”, she acknowledged after a while. “I have two images of your person in my mind. I mean, I heard all these heroic songs about your life. Julian told me each and every story he could recall about your shared path. And you saved my home village from monsters, nearly being killed.” She shrugged tiredly and visibly confused. “And on the other hand, I know you and Jules parted all of a sudden and he refuses to tell me what happened, looking hurt every time I ask him. So I feel I should be really angry with you, because it's clear which side I should choose in this – mess.”</p><p>She turned to back off, but the movement was too abrupt and she hissed in pain, pressing her hands in her lower back again. </p><p>“Wait a second”, Geralt grumbled and silently moved back into the cave. Jaskier was still fast asleep, looking soft and vulnerable. Younger. The Witcher once again struggled to not touch his companion, to brush a lock of Jaskier's dark hair from his forehead. The struggle annoyed him. He felt hollow and exhausted beyond compair.</p><p>One stone in the makeshift firepit was flat and tepid. The Witcher pressed his hand onto the smooth surface and casted a small wave of Ignii, before returning to Jaskier's wife and handing over the improvised bedwarmer.</p><p>Anne accepted it gracefully and slipped it under her woollen jacket at tailbone height, groaning in relief. </p><p>“You're aware that telling me all this is kind of contradictory?” Geralt grumbled, but then added: “You should choose his side. I hurt him. He didn't deserve it.”</p><p>“I thought so”, she muttered and shot him another sceptic look. “Speaking of contradictory behaviour – guess you are the true master here. It's all in the songs: the White Wolf growls and snaps, but only bites when necessary.”</p><p>“That's pathetic”, Geralt snorted.</p><p>“You're pathetic. Bringing me a hot stone, talking to your horse and travelling with to the chattiest person on the Continent for twenty years without strangling him.” Her eyes sparkled teasingly.</p><p>The Witcher huffed a laugh. During their conversation, he had felt that Anne's pulse had quickened for several times and that she always was on the brink of total confusion when it came to personal, emotional matters. He could quite readily sympathize with her, as he felt being stuck between opponent feelings as well.</p><p>The woman was blunt and stubborn, but she was also quick witted and had a good heart. But seeing that there was, in the end, one woman the bard had finally decided to get married to left Geralt ashamed, reminding him that he should have been there for his friend during the last months. Which was ridiculous, as the Witcher knew that he would never be able to make Jaskier as happy as a wife could do. The bard loved women, after all. It was part of his nature to flirt, to be drawn to lush, feminine bodies and adoring words dropping from pink lips.</p><p>Although Anne de Lettehoven had none of these qualities, she would always be a step closer to Jaskier's heart and needs than Geralt would ever be. Even as the bard had admitted that this wasn't a love match after all, the Witcher could feel how close these two humans really were. </p><p>Maybe Jaskier's words were wiser than Geralt had initially thought. Maybe respect and care, these simple basics of friendship, would make this marriage work. </p><p>The realization nevertheless stung. Geralt felt his throat tightening. Friendship. Jaskier had offered this to him for twenty years, refusing to be driven away by monster gut, swears and punches, but the Witcher had been unable to reciprocate. It wasn't part of his nature. He could have tried it, anyway, but he hadn't dared to challenge his own convictions. </p><p>And now, two humans proved that it was possible to overcome  confirmed habits and preferences and Geralt felt that he had failed to change where change had been desperately needed. It left him sad. But it also gave him a strong feeling of responsibility. He had wronged Jaskier,  but he intended to make it up again. If the bard didn't agree to his plans, Geralt would accept. But he would be extending his protection to the one person that made Jaskier smile and feel safe. His wife. </p><p>“You should wake him”, the Witcher suggested and returned to reality, observing the changes in the sky and the autumn mist. “The sooner we move, the sooner we will arrive at Lettehove.”</p><p>“Agreed”, Anne said and they returned into the cave to collect their packs and prepare the animals for the next full day of travelling. Anne ended all her personal preparations and then cared for Pegasus before she knelt down by Jaskier's side, carefully shaking his shoulder.</p><p>The bard tried to cover his face with one of the blankets and shot his wife a really nasty look as she managed to get a hold on the soft, warm bedroll and ruined his efforts easily. </p><p>“You're cruel, dearie”, Jaskier mumbled, blue eyes sleepy. “'Tis barely dawn. No decent person should be up so early.”</p><p>“So you're telling us we're not decent?”, Anne asked him gravely.</p><p>“<em>'Us'</em>,eh?” The bard shot into a sitting position, suspiciously eyeing his wife and Geralt, who covered the embers of campfire with old ashes and stones to allow it to go down and was wise enough not to interfere. “You are teaming up against me, aren't you?”</p><p>“We're teaming up <em>for</em> you, silly”, Anne cooed exaggeratedly, eyelid fluttering in a mock display of flirting, and then laughed at her husband's shocked face. “Now, get up. We can have breakfast on the road.”</p><p>
 The bard stumbled to his feet and tried his best to sulk, but his eyes shone with appreciation. Not only for his wife, but also for Geralt, the Witcher realized hazily while attaching his bags to Roach's saddle. He tried to ignore the warm feeling in his chest, lost in memories, all reminding him that this particular look on Jaskier's face was something he had cherished for a long time.
</p><p>
 “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” The bard stretched warily and accepted another piece of willow bark Anne handed him. He winked at her playfully, braiding back his sleep tangled hair. “Thanks, honey. This makes me want to kiss you. Again.”
</p><p>
 His wife just grinned and pick up Jaskier's saddle bags from the ground, heading over to Pegasus. The gelding was in a foul mood and tried to bite her, but she just hovered his nuzzle with a firm hand and the animal went docile as a lamb.
</p><p>
 “Wanna end up with a broken nose. Again?”, she asked, looking over her shoulder.
</p><p>
 “Naw, I need to decline that lovely offer of yours”, the bard waved her off, still smiling.
</p><p>
 Geralt had not idea what this exchange was about and couldn't help the feeling that there was another vital clue he had been missing. But as Jaskier had said – he would only be only trusted with more information if he would be willing to share his motives in return. A fair trade, indeed. But Geralt wasn't ready for this.
</p><p>
 They rode off some minutes later and the weather turned out to be gracious to their plans. After two hours, the impenetrable mist slowly lifted and a beautiful blue sky spread above their heads. The light helped to easily overcome their morning brooding and soon, Anne and Jaskier engaged in conversion again, discussing a book, clearly not sharing an opinion about the work.
</p><p>
 “It's a marvellous masterpiece!”, the bard exclaimed, shaking his head. His wife just huffed and rolled her eyes.
</p><p>
  “It's shite, really. The daily menu at the “Chez Louise”, that's a masterpiece!”
</p><p>
 “Geralt!” The Witcher flinched at Jaskier yelling at him. “What do you think about Master Valerian's 'Poética Contemporánea'?”
</p><p>
 Geralt hid his smile, bowing down to brush down some burdocks of Roach's coat.
</p><p>
 “Remember that book I fell asleep over at Aldersberg after just five pages?”, the Witcher answered rather innocently and Jaskier shot him a murderous look, while Anne looked impressed against her own will.
</p><p>
 “Cretins! Both of you! Why do I even pay attention to your unqualified judgement?”
</p><p>
 Anne amicably leaned over to pat her husband's shoulder and grinned at him.
</p><p>
 “You should've never taught me to read properly. What comes around goes around, Jules!”
</p><p>
 The bard pouted again, laughter crinkling his bearded face, and Anne gently drove her horse to ride ahead, letting the impatient Winter canter for a while. Jaskier slowed Pegasus down and let Geralt catch up on him.
</p><p>
 “She's really having a good day today, thank the gods”, the bard said sternly and tilted his head, measuring the Witcher with a pensive glance. “Times have been rough lately for her. Glad you two get along now.”
</p><p>
 “It's easy”, Geralt admitted and shrugged. It was the truth. What else should he say? That he faced a strange, simmering rage, curling under his ribs like a wild animal that tried to break free?
</p><p>
 “Yeah, when both of you stick to Jaskier's – I mean Julian's - old subject-predicate-object rule!”, Jaskier smiled and rode off to follow his wife. The Witcher looked down on Roach's mane and furrowed his brow. It seemed like he wasn't the only person who had a problem with Jakier's new identity – even the bard himself had stumbled upon his artist name just a second ago. Very strange, indeed.
</p><p>
 The road's quality decreased. Most of the soil and the stones stabilizing it had washed down by the last days' pouring rain, but the group was able to make good progress until dawn approached again. Temperatures had been dropping significantly since the morning, but none of the travellers had lost a word about it.
</p><p>
 “How far is Lettehoven?”, Anne asked, turning in her saddle to meet her husbands gaze. She now wore her travel cloak and thick leather gloves. Her nose and cheeks were slightly reddened by the cold. “Could we do it in the next two to three hours? My horse is exhausted.”
</p><p>
Jaskier shook his head, clearly dissatisfied with the situation.
</p><p>
“Last time I came here I travelled with a troupe, love. They were much slower than we are now, but it's at least another thirty miles.”
</p><p>
 Geralt could detect some hesitation in his friend's voice and he understood why. The bard hadn't been home for years and never been talkative about him upbringing as a Viscount.
</p><p>
 Some year ago, during a summer solstice celebration, Jaskier had been terribly drunk and attacked a guy who beat the crap out of his youngest son for dropping his soup. It had ended with a black eye and some bruised ribs for the bard, but he had nevertheless been incredibly proud of his good deed. The morning after, suffering a massive hangover, he had told Geralt that his tutors at the cloister school had loved to beat the joy out of their pupils with a cane. After this revelation, Jaskier had never spoken of Lettehove or his youth again.
</p><p>
So they set camp for a second time and tried their best to brave the cold. It was a miserable night, clattering teeth and disturbed sleep, but at least it stayed dry and as they rose the next morning, another brilliant autumn sky was already casting shadows.
</p><p>
 Geralt was the first to hear the far away cries of the seagulls and stared into the overwhelming blue sky. The atmosphere changed, salty air filled his lungs and there was a distant smell of seaweed and algae.
</p><p>
 “We made it to the coast”, he silently said to himself and watched Jaskier taking the lead of the group, shoulders straight and tensed like a bow. Geralt's gaze dropped to his own hands clinging to Roach's reins a little bit to hard. The dull ache under his ribs intensified.
</p><p>
 They should have come earlier.
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Stone walls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>cw: Swearing / heavy insults</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A long time ago Vesemir had taught the young Witchers everything the Kaer Morhen library held about fortresses and castles. A warrior needed to know as much as possible about the potential weak points of the fortifications such as the sewers, that gates or the walls.</p><p>Even it would be unlikely that any of the young men was to be part of a siege or do a sapper's dirty work with shovels and alchemic explosives, these information was crucial when it came to the knowledge how to escape from these kind of buildings after a contract with a noble failed or turned out to be a ruse to get hold on a Witcher alive.</p><p>So Geralt knew that the first castles erected by humans after the Conjunction of the Spheres had been solid, wooden buildings, surrounded only by a wall of wooden poles, an earth wall  and maybe a moat. Easy to be build, easy to be sacked. There were still many of these fortresses found at the Continent.</p><p>Later, after the humans had been able to strengthen their position on the Continent, they had started to build massive stone fortresses wherever the landscape and the financial situation allowed it. Construction work always started with a stone wall and a donjon, heavily fortified and used as the last resort for the castle inhabitants in times of a feud. During the centuries, several kind of new buildings and structures had been added to castle architecture to improved the living conditions of the noble families and to ensure that attackers could be fended off with ease. There were stables and women rooms, banquet halls and smithies. In some regions of the Continent, there were even more people living inside the castles than in the villages at the outskirts who provided the nobles and their entourage with goods for their daily needs.</p><p>Geralt thought about all this when the small travel party followed the road leading through the harvested fields of Lettehove. They had passed by two villages and several lonely hamlets, all of them being part of his family's lands, Jaskier had explained, seemingly distressed. The Witcher didn't understand at first why the bard reacted so strangely.<br/>The dark soil of the fields and the woodland smelled rich and fertile, the few peasant that had seen had looked contempt and well fed. Was Jaskier ashamed because he had never cared about his land or title, Geralt asked himself and watched his companion closely.</p><p>The bard's face reminded his of a marble bust. Deep vertical and horizontal wrinkles were carved in Jaskier's forehead, he emitted sorrow and pain. Geralt felt relieved to see that Anne approached her husband and took his hand, as they brought their horses to a halt on the top of a vast green hillside.</p><p>There, on the foot of the hill, located on the silver grey cliffs high above the roaring sea, was Lettehoven castle and it was breathtaking.</p><p>The castle had been erected on a wide ledge, an excellent strategic choice made by a long gone master builder, as only a small road led towards the castle gates, its width limited by the abysses of the cliffs.</p><p>The circular wall was massive, but it had seen better times, as some parts of the wall had crumbled down into the ocean. Nevertheless, Lettehove Castle would be hard to take, by land of by sea. </p><p>On the landward side of the rampart was the first fortification, including the gate that would lead travellers into the castle. Geralt guessed there would be a farmyard, stables for horses and productive livestock, workshops and accommodations for the guards. A second gate normally connected the first fortification with the main castle, where the keep and the family's residential quarters could be found. </p><p>There was s small fishing village at the foot of the ledge, embedded between the cliffs. Bright, chalked cottages gleamed in the autumn sun. Some boats were put up on the white beach for repairs but there were several sails scattered on the rough surface of the turquoise sea.</p><p>It was an almost unreal landscape, just like a painting an unknown artist had created with the most dazzling colours. </p><p>“So, this is it”, Anne said grimly and pressed Jaskier's hand, carefully not to hurt him. Her expression was as pained as her husband's features. “You know, we can go back to Oxenfurt if you want. We don't need to do this.”</p><p>“I will not break a promise I made”, the bard solemnly declared and let go of Anne's fingers. “I  have send word that we would be coming.”</p><p>“I don't care about that promise!”, Anne spat. Her horse's ears set back as the animal reacted to the shrill sound of her voice. “I don't need your -.”</p><p>Jaskier ignored her and rode off, letting Pegasus find a way down the green meadow. Anne exhaled slowly, trying to get a hold of herself. She avoided making eye contact with Geralt and followed Jaskier without further objections.</p><p>The Witcher suppressed a sigh and shook his head. He felt tired and angry, being confronted with the secrets the bard and his wife had been holding from him for far too long. He needed to know what would happen when they entered the castle. </p><p>Gently, he drove Roach to catch up with Anne and stared at her until she looked at him.</p><p>“Will you or Julian be in any danger there?”, he asked gruffly, regretting it an instant later, as Jaskier's wife flinched. “I am sorry”, Geralt added apologetically. “Just worried about your well-being.”</p><p>Anne snorted, feigning to be confident and calm, but Geralt knew she felt hurt and alone. For the first time since they met, he could see her pressing a palm to her belly, as if she absent-minded needed to reassure the vulnerable life growing in her body that everything would turn out alright.</p><p>“No, not the kind of danger a Witcher could eliminate with his swords. But don't worry, Geralt. If that's what he wants, why even bother?”</p><p>The Witcher was not sure if both of them really knew what Jaskier was up to. Or if the bard himself knew. He quickly weighed the options he had and came to the conclusion that he could do nothing that wouldn't hurt the fragile trust he had been able to rebuild. Leaving the couple was out of question and delaying their arrival by confronting Jaskier about his motives would only lead to a quarrel nobody could endure at the moment.</p><p>So he yielded up to his fate and joined the other riders again. The guardsmen at the first gate stepped forward, disturbed by the unusual sight of a noble, a female warrior and a Witcher. They wore chainmail and plate helmets, covered by tabards in a bright green color tincture.</p><p>“What d'ya want?”, one of the men spat and tensed, hand already on his pole-ax that was leaning of the wall. The older one, a bald man in his sixties, reacted far more composed. He met the travellers' eyes and suddenly smiled broadly, presenting missing teeth.</p><p>“It's our Lord Julian, you dimwit.” He slapped the younger man's head with a firm gloved hand, ignoring the clang of the helmet. “Show some respect!”</p><p>“So sorry, M'lord”, the scolded guard mumbled and bowed awkwardly.</p><p>“Ah, good to see you, Quentin”, Jaskier nodded jovially and seemed relieved for the first time. “It's been quite a while.”</p><p>“Aye, Mylord. Good to see ya. I'll shown you in!”</p><p>They entered the first fortification and a stablehand hurried to help them with the horses. Geralt shook of the feeling of being trapped between the castle walls and refused any help. Tending Roach was a routine that helped him to focus on his surroundings as well as handling the impressions. Luckily, the stables were in good order and he would not feel guilty to leave his mare with the two adolescent boys who had instantly sprung to action after the older stable hand had summoned them.</p><p>Quentin didn't hesitate to mobilise every single person on the courtyard to spread the news of the new arrivals. As soon as the travellers left the stable building, a larger crowd had already assembled. The coal-stained smith and his family, some guards in the Lettehove coat of arms, the butcher, the fat cook and her young scullery maids as well as several other servants, all had come to greet their lord. There were lots of prying eyes and whispers. Geralt knew how to shake them off, but he could see that Jaskier and his wife felt uneasy. The couple hadn't spoken since their dispute on the hillside and even now their tried to avoid each others gazes.</p><p>“Now bow and get back to work!” A new voice rang over the courtyard and everybody obeyed immediately. A tall man appeared in the second gate that led to the main castle. He was in his forties, a dark and handsome type, but his tone was hard. As were his observing eyes, attentively wandering over the visitors . “Mylord Julian, welcome home. I am Ambrose, your mother's bailiff. Please follow me to the main hall. Your guests can meanwhile wait in the reception chamber.”</p><p>“No, I don't think so. My wife and my friend will join me.” Jaskier's voice was steady and he easily met the bailiff's eyes. The bard was no small man and he straightened his shoulders, clearly unwilling to back down to a subordinated person. Gone was the funny and sometimes goofy bard, replaced by a man forged by destiny. By Julian, a respectable nobleman of the Northern Kingdoms. The Witcher had to admit that a strange melancholy flooded his system. He missed the old Jaskier, the man who was terrifyingly open and optimistic beyond compare. Some people would be pleased to see the bard all mature and way too serious. Geralt wasn't pleased at all.</p><p>His life was a barren, solitary road. It would never be the same without Jaskier's spark that had brightened it for years. The Witcher closed his eyes and focused on his breath. No, the love he felt was no displacement behaviour his body had brought up to cope with every single stroke of fate he had suffered in the last eighteen months. It was a feeling that had been developing over long summer nights at shared campfires, in rowdy taverns and on the dusty road, hungry and hurt and sometimes desperate. He just hadn't allowed it to penetrate the mental shields he had set up to follow the guidance of his Witcher education.</p><p>The bailiff's grey eyes narrowed, barely noticeable, then he bowed politely and made an inviting gesture. He was an excellent actor, Geralt thought and was glad that when he caught Jaskier's gaze, the bard's eyes were mirroring the Witcher's suspicion.</p><p>“Forgive me, Mylord. I will of course arrange everything according to your desires.”</p><p>Geralt inspected the portcullis in the gateway tower as Ambrose led them towards the main castle and vividly remembered that moment in Cintra when Queen Calanthe had used these hidden iron bars to capture him and imprison him in her dungeon. So long ago. He tried to image what Ciri would tell him if she were by his side. Would she even talk to him after he left her with his brothers and with Vesemir? He wasn't sure she would forgive him for letting her down. And for putting Jaskier and his wife first.</p><p>The castle's palas was an impressive, two-storey rectangular building, adorned with arched windows grouped in form of arcades and covered by a gabled roof. Geralt noticed how thick the walls were when they entered the palace through a huge wooden door. </p><p>Half of ground floor turned out to be a courtroom, warmed by a giant open fire roaring on the head side. Such rooms were normally used to welcome guests or enjoy the fire's soothing heat, as castles turned out to be terribly cold during the winters. The area was delicately furnished with a several chairs and a large table, armoires and a wrought-iron chest. Beautiful tapestries lined the stone walls, masterfully embroidered with hunting and battle scenes.</p><p>The room was empty. Closed doors lead away to other rooms which Geralt suspected to be the cabinets, the small private rooms of the family members during the day. A broad stone stairway led up to the first floor. The bailiff kindly asked them to follow him upstairs.</p><p>The great hall at Lettehove castle was between one and a half and three times as long as it was wide, and also higher than it was wide. They entered through a screens passage at one end, passing arched doorways the would lead into the service quarters, the kitchen, buttery and pantry that would be found in the palas' outbuildings.</p><p>The windows on one of the long sides and a large bay window allowed the visitor to admire the sea, but none of the visitors wasted a look. Compared to the courtroom, the great hall was icy. Even the tapestries and some thick carpets couldn't keep away the autumn cold, even though the room had a central hearth as well, covered by an elaborate overmantel with fine stone carvings.</p><p>There were several wooden sidetables, cupboards and massive hanging chandeliers made of antlers. Ornamental weapons lined the walls when there wasn't enough room between the windows for the tapestries.</p><p>Everybody turned towards the dais where the high table was situated. The huge wall behind the principal seat as well as the wood-beamed ceiling had been painted with opulent ornaments, flowers and mythical creatures.</p><p>The frail old woman at the high table didn't rise when her visitors approached. Her full grey hair was perfectly coiffed into two braids, adorned by a gold band that held her veil in place. Her dark green overskirt was made of fine wool, with slitted sleeves that reveiled an exquisite purple silk dress.</p><p>She had piercing grey eyes and clawlike hands that barely touched her chair's armrests. The bailiff left the group and  took his position at an angle behind her, bending over to whisper something in her ear. </p><p>“Julian. At least. I thought your were dead.” The Dowager Viscount voice was as cold as the air.</p><p>“Mother.” The bard bowed neglectfully, just deep enough to be polite. Nothing more. “Reports of my untimely death are of course exaggerated.”</p><p>“Such a pity.” The woman pursed her bloodless lips. “And look whom you invited to our once noble house. The filthy monster Witcher and the bitch you call your wife. Pregnant, as I was told. Being your father's bastard yourself, are you sure you sired this – thing?”</p><p>A thin finger pointed in Anne's direction in a clearly derogative manner.</p><p>Two things happened at the same time then. Geralt felt Jaskier's cold rage, but the bard managed to not leap forward and loose his temper. Instead, the Viscount just held his head high and arched his brow. But here suddenly was a muffled noise coming from the Witcher's side. He turned and saw all blood draining from Anne's sweat covered face within seconds. Geralt cursed and jumped forward, catching the unconscious woman before she hit the floor.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Rape / torture will be mentioned. Lots of emotional distress incoming.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were condemned to wait in front of the the door. Geralt leaned against the cool stone wall, arms crossed and tried to ignore Jaskier's nervous pacing. The bard massaged his temples with his fingertips and sometimes stopped, opening his mouth to speak, but not words came out. Then he resumes his stride once again.</p><p>“She will be alright”, the Witcher finally said and tried to sound as convinced as even possible. Jaskier's distress touched him more that he was willing to admit. Seeing his friend's suffering evoked a feeling of helplessness he couldn't cope with. Conveying reassurance wasn't his greatest feature.</p><p>“Gods, Geralt, I should have listened to her”, the bard muttered and finally stopped. His legs gave away and he sat down on the floor, staring at the door as if it was his personal enemy. He looked beaten and at the end of his tether. “Why did I even -.”</p><p>“You need to stop that!”, the Witcher secretly winced at the sharp sound of his own voice, turning his head so that Jaskier couldn't see his pained expression. But he had figured out how maybe he would be able to lift Jaskier's spirits again. “I can't answer your questions, but I can tell you that you should suck it up and move forward.”</p><p>The bard froze and blinked in disbelief. He rose stiffly and the spark of raw anger flashed over his face. His hands clenched into fists.</p><p>“Suck it up? Are you fucking kidding me, Geralt? How dare you talking to me like that?”</p><p>“You should show some adult behaviour”, the Witcher grunted dismissively. “Then I might rethink my words.”</p><p>The colour returned in Jaskier's too pale cheeks. Geralt smiled at him and the bard's shoulders instantly fell.</p><p>“You – did that on purpose. You tried to make me angry to keep me on track”, the bard stumbled on his words and shook his head. A restrained smiled returned to his lips. “Thank you.”</p><p>The door opened and Kiennan poked his head out. The healer was a thin man of indefinable age, dress in a modest and practical brown robe. There was kindness in his eyes and movements. It was the first thing that Geralt had noticed as the man had been summoned from the fishing village, bringing a large bag of remedies with him. Now he only hoped that the healer knew what he was doing.</p><p>The Witcher had been glad that it hadn't been necessary to either force Jaskier's mother or her bailiff to cooperate. Isabel de Lettehove and Ambrose hat actually been quite shocked about the turn of the events, seeing their control over the situation being washed away in an instant. Jaskier's mother had just fled to great hall and the bailiff had decided that it was a wise decision not to let his new lord's wife die in the middle of a castle that belonged to her husband.</p><p>Geralt's first impulse after catching Anne's limp body had been a cruel and revengeful one. He had wanted to set the hall ablaze and burn every person who dared to hurt his friend and his wife. But the Witcher had come to his senses just in time to yell orders to keep Jaskier busy, forcing him to organize a room, send out some servants to go fetch the healer and lead him to the family quarters – not allowing his friend to break down as well. </p><p>“She's awake now, Mylord”, Kiennan smiled at Jaskier and the corners of his eyes crinkled encouragingly. “You may come in for a while, but she needs to get some rest.”</p><p>He made an inviting gesture and the bard shot into the sleeping room without even looking at Geralt again. The Witcher sighed and turned away as the door fell shut. For a moment he thought about standing guard, but his instincts told him that it was unnecessary. Jaskier's mother had lashed out on her son, but wasn't willing to pursue her disdain. Just like a beaten manticore without his teeth and tail. Geralt had smelled her bitterness, but also her defeat as her son had stood up to her hateful snarl.</p><p>Ambrose, Geralt mused, posed a greater risk. But the bailiff wasn't a man who would murder Jaskier and his wife on her sick bed. No, that man was morally flexible and would be willing to swim with the tide. He could be a valuable ally or a terrifying enemy. </p><p>The Witcher bended his steps towards the courtroom at the ground floor, finding a place to sit down at a chair in from of the hearth and think over what has happened. The heat of the fireplace calmed him down and he exhaled deeply, rubbing his hands.</p><p>“Master Witcher?” A soft voice was raised at the door that led to the servants' quarters. Geralt frowned, but then recognized the young woman who had helped him to lie Anne down on the bed and who had brought water and some cushions  to make the unconscious woman as comfortable as possible. “I'm Violet. Are you alright? What can I get you? Ale?”</p><p>Geralt grunted and then reminded himself that not all people could guess correctly what the sound meant.</p><p>“I am – alright, thank you. Ale would be nice.”</p><p>Midday had passed and he ignored the feeling of deep exhaustion. He hadn't slept properly for weeks and his meditations had been to light to give him the rest he needed. The only calm moment had been his unconsciousness after being wounded at Norderfen. Oh, the irony.</p><p>Violet was a thoughtful and kind person. She returned, minutes later, and not only brought him beer, but also bread and a bowl of steaming stew with cabbage, carrots and meat.</p><p>“It's been quite a day”, she lightly chatted as she sat down the tray at the large table, but then her blonde brows furrowed. “Will the Viscountess be alright? The young one, I mean?”</p><p>“I'm not a doctor”, Geralt grumbled and hated to admit that he was helpless. “Just a Witcher.”</p><p>“The White Wolf”, she exclaimed with a broad smile. “We all heard the songs. Couldn't wait for a bard to come to the village and play them for us. We needed to keep it a secret because the old Viscountess didn't want -.” She stopped, looking guilty. “Sorry”, she mumbled. “I shouldn't bother you with gossip.”</p><p>“Never mind. Gossip gets me a third of my contracts”, Geralt responded lightly. It was an exaggeration, but the words didn't miss the intended effect. The young girl beamed at his open invitation to tell him more. Maybe it wasn't noble to choose this method to get the information he wanted, but it had been Jaskier's choice to proclaim him a white night, not his.</p><p>“I mean, I wasn't even born when the old Lord died”, she mumbled and pressed the tray to what Geralt thought was a lovely bosom. “The old Lady put Lord Julian into that school to get rid of him, claiming it would be the best for him to get a proper education. He was the older one, being born a year prior to Lord Philipp, that much is true, but they say - .” She coughed and fled through the door she had come from as they heard steps on the stairs.</p><p>Geralt had heard enough anyway and turned to the table to face his meal. So it seemed that Jaskier had been his father's bastard, brought into the family and accepted as son and heir. And then, later, another son had been born, becoming his mother's favourite. The Witcher could see why the old hag held such a grudge against the rightful heir, being the living proof for her husband's infidelity. </p><p>She had been living in is this beautiful castle for twenty years, always threatened by the knowledge that Jaskier - Julian - might return any day to take what she felt was hers. And then, the only son whom she loved died, leaving her nothing but the knowledge that her life had been a lie.</p><p>It explained at lot. But there was no excuse for the cruelty Isabel de Lettehove had demonstrated.</p><p>Jaskier appeared seconds later and sat down at the table next to Geralt. The Viscount looked haggard, his eyes red and swollen and the Witcher passed him the bowl.</p><p>“Eat”, he commanded calmly and to his surprise, Jaskier obeyed without resistance. The bard finished half of the meal before speaking again.</p><p>“The lad has been chatty?”, he asked and avoided making eye contact with Geralt. “I assumed that you would get the whole story in no time anyway.”</p><p>The Witcher sighed and tried not to feel guilty for prying. It had become part of his nature to influence people into trusting him eanough to provide him with vital information.</p><p>“How is your wife?”, Geralt asked and leaned back in his chair, observing his friend putting down the spoon and reaching for the bread, crumbling the fine white mass between his shaking fingers. Still the bard didn't look at him.</p><p>“She will be alright, Master Kiennan says. He will stay with her until she feels better.”</p><p>“What about the child? Is it-.” Geralt's voice sounded hesitant. He felt awkward addressing the matter, as it touched a spot in his own soul where he treasured all these memories of Ciri, her fierceness, her trust and the hurt he inflicted upon her.</p><p>The bard finally looked up and smiled sardonically. Geralt was taken aback by this swift change in Jaskier's emotions. He didn't understand until the moment his friend abruptly stood and smashed the earthen bowl from the table, leaving it to shatter on the floor.</p><p>“Not mine? Yeah, congratulations on your brilliant deduction! Equal to my mother's!” The bard retreated from the table, shaking with rage, blue eyes staring at Geralt like he really was the monster many people considered him as.</p><p>The Witcher rose as well, feeling like being gut-punched. He had wanted to ask if the child was alright as well, but his friend had misunderstood him completely. And suddenly, it all made sense. Anne's rage about her pregnancy, her ignorance of the child's well-being, the chain marks at her wrist, her refusal to talk about her past. Her dislike of male power. Jaskier had mentioned she was fragile and asked Geralt to protect her. Fuck. No.</p><p>The terrible suspicion sank into Geralt's heart. He wanted to apologize, to explain what he had meant. But the right words failed him once again. His inability to express what he really felt had turned the whole situation into this disaster.</p><p>“Jaskier”, he croaked.</p><p>“What now, Geralt? Are you satisfied to see that my life is as shitty as yours?”</p><p>The Witcher gritted his teeth. The bard's accusation was hateful and unjust. So that's how it felt, Geralt mused. It hurt. Terribly. For a second he wondered if Jaskier's heart had broken on that day on the mountain. He still remembered that look on the bard's face, the expression of a man who had lost everything of any value in his life. In only one ugly instant.</p><p>Or if it had only been his immense pride that had been hurt by Geralt's rejection?</p><p>It was true, the bard had assured him that he held no grudge, but oh, Jaskier was such a complicated and emotional creature. Maybe the bard had been neglecting his true feelings and now, as he finally lost his nerves, he realized that he had indeed neither forgiven not forgotten. And he wanted his revenge.</p><p>It was a strange sort of relief to see Jaskier finally searching for the confrontation he so much deserved. But the moment destiny had chosen for this was awfully wrong, bringing them once again to the brink of an abyss.<br/>
If Geralt failed to make this up, he knew for sure, he would loose his friend once and for all. He ached to explain everything, to ensure that the bard would be a part of his life again, no matter how long it would last before death would inevitably take Jaskier away.</p><p>But what if his selfish wish for being close to the man he loved was wrong? He could remember Anne yelling at him, blaming him for Jaskier's approaching death. Had it really been his presence in the bard's life that had led to his demise? Why? How? He wanted answers, but did he deserve them?</p><p>What did a Witcher deserve in life? Nothing. What did Jaskier deserve in life? Everything.</p><p>There was just one thing the Geralt could do now. He needed to let got of his convictions, his doubts and the gnawing fear that had paralysed him for the last twenty years. The greatest of risks.</p><p>“Julian.” His voice and his pace were steady as he moved, overcoming the distance and catching the other man's hand with his. This time, his touch was light and gentle and his friend's eyes widened in shock. But he did not pull away. And he wasn't afraid, just like it had always been. “Please, forgive me. I just wanted to know if the child is well. You are the best man I know and I wish you nothing but happiness. I will leave if you tell to. But if you let me stay, I will do everything in my power to be the friend you deserve.”</p><p>This time, it was Geralt who couldn't stand to keep eye contact. He hung his head, feeling Jaskier's warm skin under his fingers, the racing human pulse.</p><p>He saw a warrior's hand, filthy and calloused, covered with fine, white scars. And a poet's hands, graceful and gentle, capable of evoking the most beautiful tunes and verses. Both marked by a life they had been leading next to each other, but never really together. </p><p>It was the bard who broke the contact and Geralt winced as he forced himself to meet Jaskier's eyes again. They were unbearably sad and the Witcher braced himself to be pushed away. Words could cut deeper than a knife. And he knew he didn't have the right to be angry about what was to come. He deserved this. As he had deserved every single loss in his life.</p><p>“There's a room waiting for you upstairs in the family's wing”, Jaskier answered, his face confused, but beyond that emotion unreadable. “We will talk about this later.”</p><p>The bard left through the hall's main door, walking slowly and high erect, and Geralt remained right where he was, staring into blank space. Why wasn't he feeling any kind of relief? The blood red beast that nested in his chest revolted painfully against his ribs. </p><p>Now, as the bard had taken his position in society again, having a wife and a child in his own, Geralt would never be able to tell Jaskier how much he loved him. And then, some day, the bard would be gone and he would take the Witcher's heart to his grave. Forever.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. A good man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's a 'Princess Bride' quote hidden here. :)</p><p>Hope you like the story so far. I would be very happy for more comments. :) There will be another four to five chapters and then - well, there's another plot I have in mind already. So stay tuned!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The afternoon went by fast and Geralt soon gave up hope that he would really have the opportunity to speak to Jaskier in private. But he had to admit that the former bard, now Viscount, seized the hours between noon and dawn quite efficiently. </p><p>First thing Jaskier did was taking his place at the high table and summoning the castle's troops. It turned out old Quentin, who had recognized them at the first gate and announced their arrival, was the current chief of guard's uncle. Pieter, who had taken the command over the Lettehoven guards only two months ago, was a stern young man, eager to please his new lord. </p><p>Geralt took his place in the back of the great hall and observed Jaskier using his exceptional conversation skills and his performance talent to ensure that Pieter would chose his side. And why would he not? Serving an old lady who would probably die within the next years or her son, the rightful heir, who had just decided to take over the responsibility and was adored by most of the womenfolk around – it was an easy choice.</p><p>Pieter looked indeed very noble and brave as he bowed his knee and some of the scullery maids who had secretly gathered behind one of the doors whispered and snickered. </p><p>Quentin stayed at Jaskier's side by the young lord's order and grinned for the whole time, being keen to please and maybe experience another adventure in his olden days. His tooth missing smile widened as Jaskier asked him to bring Ambrose to his late father's and brother's study in the ground floor.</p><p>Geralt began to feel unhappy at the thought of leaving his friend with the bailiff, so he decided to wait for Jaskier at the stairs.</p><p>“Will you need me?”, the Witcher grumbled. “I could help.”</p><p>The bard's mood had lightened up slightly and he raised his eyebrow at Geralt, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. He still looked tired, but a new kind of energy seemed to flow through his veins. The Witcher didn't know where it came from, but he felt an enormous relief.</p><p>“Of all things you could do in a fortress, you're volunteering to check on the ledgers?” </p><p>“Well -.”</p><p>“I thought so”, Jaskier responded dryly and jovially patted Geralt's shoulder. The little friendly touch left Geralt stunned. He had never expected Jaskier to be at ease with him again so fast. “But I appreciate your offer. Really, I do. Maybe you could talk to Pieter again and take a closer look at the guards' equipment and the smithy. I don't think you will face any difficulties, but just in case – give them the scary face.”</p><p>“That I can do”, Geralt nodded and relaxed his shoulders. True, he would be better off with weapons and armour. Bookkeeping was nothing a Witcher learned during his extensive training. And he could check on his mare again.</p><p>“Ah, and – Geralt? Make a detour and check the kitchen for some apples. Now as I'm a real Viscount, I can spoil our horses every day. And don't you dare to object!”</p><p>Geralt tilted his head.</p><p>“As you wish, Julian.”</p><p>The Viscount scurried down the stairs, joined by old Quentin, who nearly missed the last step as he reached the ground floor and noticed Geralt right behind him, as the Witcher had followed them on his way to the palas' main entrance.</p><p>“Ah, Master Witcher, you're giving me the creeps”, he breathed and wagged his calloused finger at Geralt. The white haired man suppressed a sigh. It was still strange to witness that most of the people who got in touch with Jaskier sooner or later tended to loose their fear of Witchers.  But on the other hand, the melodramatic songs and stories had saved his life – and his brothers' lives – more than once. Geralt knew that he needed to thank the bard for doing the Witchers of the Continent such a service. He put it on the mental list of things he needed to address.</p><p>The crisp autumn air hit his senses as he left the palas and began his look for the central kitchen. It wasn't hard to follow the aroma of meat, vegetables and cheese. The kitchen was always a household's heart, the centre of information and workplace of the people a Witcher should always be in good graces with.</p><p>Cook was an enormous woman in her sixties and she clearly knew how to command, waving a giant wooden spoon into the direction she wanted her helpers to go and fulfil their duties. A pig slowly roasted over the crackling flames in the hearth, observed by a very young boy who flinched as he saw Geralt, but didn't dare to leave his post. Obvioulsy, Cook was scarier than a monster hunter. A brunette maid plucked a chicken and some young men carried a giant barrel of ale out of the cellars. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the low, blackened ceiling, smelling sweet and spicy and tickled in Geralt's nose. </p><p>“Ah, Master Geralt.” It was Violet again, carrying a basket of eggs, fluttering her blonde lashes at him. “Can we help you?”</p><p>“Vi! Stop hitting on the Witcher and help me!”, Cook barked, but the young woman just laughed.</p><p>“Yes, gran, in a minute.” She winked at Geralt, her free hand on her hips. “So, what do you need?”</p><p>She obviously wasn't asking for his food wishes, but he ignored her, just flashing her a neutral smile. There always were some women who tried to get him laid just to experience how it felt to bed a monster. He couldn't understand that, at all. But sometimes in the past, when he had felt lonely, he had accepted offers like these. Now, nothing could be further away from his actual desires.</p><p>“Some apples will do.”</p><p>She pouted, but left her basket on a table and gave him what he wanted. He felt relieved when entering the stables some time later, being greeted by his most faithful companion with a neigh. Roach happily crunched her apples and only tried to eat his tunic once as he turned to give Winter and Pegasus their equal share.</p><p>He felt reluctant to leave the stables warmth and the mare's soothing presence, but he had promised to help and so, he headed for the barracks and the smithy to follow the Jaskier's wishes. Pieter and Marcus, the smith, welcomed him politely, leaving not doubt that they would accept his presence without any objections. It eased Geralt's mind to be entirely in his element and he took his time to check on the quality of Marcus' metal stocks and the number and condition of the items in the armoury. He roughly counted the number of swords, pikes, crossbows, coats of mail and plates, helmets and so on, coming to the conclusion that Lettehoven was indeed in a very good state.</p><p>It seemed that the bailiff had done an excellent job and even if the Witcher didn't like the man, he had to be fair and think about advising Jaskier to keep him in his current position. If the Viscount didn't find any clue of fraud in the books, this would maybe turn into a fruitful cooperation. Anyway, if Ambrose was as experienced at falsification of books as he was at keeping the house, there wouldn't be any hints to be found in the documents anyway.</p><p>As the Witcher left the armoury, the sun set in the west, turning the sky into an artwork of crimson and gold. He decided to mount the wall and allow himself to bathe in the sheer beauty of this place. Seagulls cried, chasing small fishes under the whitecaps waves of the wide ocean. The fishing village lay calm at the shores and he knew the families would sit together now, sharing a simple meal. Human's happiness was so simple, yet fulfilling.</p><p>Jaskier's paces approached along the guard's walkway and Geralt looked up to meet the other man's eyes.</p><p>“It's a one of a kind view, isn't it?”, the Viscount smiled half-heartedly. “But impressions might be deceptive.”</p><p>“I can imagine times at the coast can be tough.” The Witcher didn't want to discussion Jaskier's family affairs as he felt he might be intruding, but he needed to reassure his friend that he understood his allusion completely. “We should have come earlier. I should have listened.”</p><p>The Viscount propped his elbows up in one of the crenels and smiled wistfully, enjoying the evening sun on his face. Geralt admired how serene the former bard looked, after being confronted with his mother's unforgiving hate and his wife's breakdown within a short time. Not to mention the immense responsibility that came with the acceptance of being a noble and a landowner.</p><p>“Maybe it just wasn't the time, then”, Jaskier reflected. “I try not to think too much about the mistakes of the past. I prefer to look ahead.”</p><p> Geralt cleared his throat, unhappy with his decision to disturb the peace of the moment.  </p><p>“Speaking of the future– have you decided how to deal with your mother?”</p><p>Jaskier sighed deeply and turned back to the Witcher.</p><p>“I thought about inspecting  the villages tomorrow and see if there's a decent cottage she can live in. She might take all the servants she wants, but I can't let her stay here, close to Anne and the child. I will not allow her to spill her hatred again.” A questioning glance appeared in his eyes, revealing how torn he really felt . “Do you think – it's right? I don't want it to look like a sort of – cheap vengeance.”</p><p>“No, I think it is a reasonable decision”, Geralt answered quietly, aching to satisfy his friend's guilty conscience. “You're not bad man, Jaskier. No matter what you may think of you now.”</p><p>“Sweet Melitele, Geralt, you sound like a poet.” </p><p>“I might have learned from one.”</p><p>Jaskier beamed and laughed softly.</p><p>“Finally you admit it.” He went back to the previous topic, clearly having no time to return to their familiar bickering. “I thought about you joining me for my trip tomorrow.”</p><p>Geralt shook his head. He would love to accompany his friend and make up the mutual time they had lost, but he needed to object here.</p><p>“Take Pieter and some of his men – maybe some who have families in the villages. A Witcher might not be the appropriate company for a Lord. First impressions are important. I can come with you any other time.”</p><p>The Viscount nodded solemn, rubbing his forehead with his hand, looking lost in considerations again.</p><p>“Maybe you are right. If it was a decision that would just affect myself, I wouldn't give a monkey's about first impressions. But this is -.”</p><p>“You need to reconsider your family's reputation and security now. I understand”, Geralt hummed. “I tried to care for Ciri, too. I know you'll do better.”</p><p>The Viscount froze, seemingly shocked. His voice sounded alarmed.</p><p>“Ciri? Ciriella? Your child of surprise? You found her? Is she alright?”</p><p>Geralt blinked, cursing himself that he had unwillingly forced the topic. Jaskier had much to worry about, the man didn't need to take another burden.</p><p>“Of course, I –  left her with Vesemir and my brothers for the year.”</p><p>“Oh, good”, Jaskier breathed and his shoulders dropped. “You scared me. But I am glad you saved her. It took you some time, but I knew you would do it at last. As I heard Cintra fell -.” Geralt stiffened and gritted his teeth. He really needed no reminder that he had tried to evade destiny for years and failed Ciri since the day of Pavetta's betrothal while chasing the selfish dream that he could have, only once, full control over his life.</p><p>“But anyway”, Jaskier recommend, not noticing what pain his words provoked. “As far as I knew your brothers and Vesemir from your narrations, is was the wisest decision you could make.”</p><p>Geralts's anger changed into amazement. How could Jaskier really mean that? Leaving a fourteen years old girl with a bunch of Witchers in a lonely fortress at the end of the world, how could that have been wise?</p><p>“I – don't know what you mean.” His voice was as hollow as a dying tree.</p><p>“Most of the people who know that Cirilla is your child of surprise are dead, but there were other guests at the betrothal party. Guests whose home countries have fallen to Nilfgaard. And as there are spies anywhere these days, seeing you alone on the Path might convince them she is dead.” The bard cocked his head and smiled sadly. “But you didn't see that, did you? Let me guess, you blamed yourself for leaving her there? At your home? The safest place at the Continent? Ah, Geralt, really? You tell me I'm a good man, but you don't grant yourself any pardon for your actions?”</p><p>The Witcher swallowed hard. Hearing these faithful words, he felt more and more miserable. He hadn't deserved Jaskier's loyalty and his absolute will to only see the best in Geralt. It was too much. Too much kindness, too much trust, too much closeness.</p><p>A yell from the courtyard saved him. They peeked down to see Kiennan, the healer, waving his hands at them with a concerned smile. Jaskier's face fell and Geralt leaned forward, reaching out with his hand to be there if his friend needed his support. The healer gathered his robe to rush up the stairs and yelled:</p><p>“No worries, no worries, everything alright, just -.” He came to halt and threw his hands up in frustration, before he jumped into apologies. Geralt pulled back slowly. He could small the healer's fear. “Excuse me, my Lord, but your wife said she doesn't want a male healer around. I assure you, I didn't intend to do any harm, I never -.”</p><p>“Ah,” Jaskier answered, clearly in distress by the mistake he had made. “I should have thought about that. Master Kiennan, no offence, but – do you know a female healer?”</p><p>“I could send my daughter, she is not that experienced, but I think she will manage”, the man offered and realized that nobody would cut his head off. He sighed, hands trembling. “I am very sorry for this, Mylord. With your permission, I will leave and fetch her right away.”</p><p>“Please, do so. Thank you.”</p><p>The man hurried away and the Viscount let his head fall, rubbing his neck in an exhausted gesture.</p><p>“Geralt”, he said and managed half a smile. “I need to see if she's alright. Might not make it to dinner. Will you sit at the high table and just – be there? As my guest? I know representation is not your thing and I am not sure if my mother will attend, but -.”</p><p>“I'll do it”, the Witcher responded, crossing his arm behind his back. “Take your time.”</p><p>Later, after he had made sure that the Viscount and his wife would be provided with everything they needed, Geralt sat down carefully on a delicately carved chair at the high table, right next to the chair where the Dowager Viscountess had sat during their first meeting. It was empty, thanks for that. The old woman hadn't shown up.</p><p>Her seat was Jaskier's now and a thoughtful soul had added two more chairs, flanking the Lord's throne. One at the heart's side, meant for the Viscountess. And one for the Viscount's right hand. His sword hand. It couldn't be clearer that Geralt had the Lord's full trust.</p><p>The great hall was bursting with people, as everybody had been curious to take a closer look at the new Viscount. The Witcher saw some disappointed faces, but the people soon decided that a Witcher was as interesting as nobility. At first, the conversations in the room were shy and muffled, but then the kitchen brought up the dinner and the huge barrel of ale Geralt had seen earlier that day and slowly, the noise level increased.</p><p>The Witcher silently observed the attendants, searching for any signs of danger, but there was none. The crowd enjoyed themselves, singing, gambling and laughing. He barely noticed that Violet had managed to be his personal maid, but when she touched his hand as she brought him the best bites of roasted pork and cooked vegetables, followed by sweet pudding with mushed and spiced berries, he knew that he had to be careful. So he sipped on his ale and tried to ignore the blonde woman's flirting the best he could.</p><p>He felt lonely and worn out. A few days ago, he would have taken her to his bed without even thinking what he was doing. Violet was lovely and kind to every person she spoke to, but the Witcher felt that she couldn't give him what he desired. In the end, she wasn't Jaskier.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am fascinated by the European late middles ages. It's such an interesting era and the European world changed a lot during these years. The letterpress (although the Chinese were the first to invent it), the fashion that evolved from mere sacks to tightly fitted outfits and so on. When I sew historically inspired clothing, I often use sources from this era as a inspiration.</p><p>One of my favourite items is actually a washstand. A picture can be found here: https://www.pinterest.de/pin/442619469637237445/ Isn't is classy and practical at the same time? :)</p><p>Bonus quest for your lovely people: can you name the most famous European city / state with the motto “Post tenebras lux”?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt rose from his seat around midnight, as the merry group of guards and civil castle inhabitants slowly began to return totheir quarters. He disliked the stench of a large group of people, that unmistakable mixture of sweat, anger, arousal and vomit. His refined senses preferred the pure beauty of a clear night in the woods or the company of a person who knew about his preferences and showed consideration for them.</p><p>He remembered Yennefer's affinity for lilac and gooseberries and felt that he smiled about the bittersweet memory. Her determination and passion for life had fascinated him for many years. That was the part of their relationship that hadn't been corrupted by the magic of the djinn. He had fallen for her before linking their lives with his third wish. He knew it for sure. Or at least he hoped so. But he would never know.</p><p>Ciri smelled like tempest on a midsummer day, bright and mighty, full of life and of the power that dwelled in her small body and soul. As he had seen her for the first time, he had instinctively felt that she was an innermost part of his life, even if they had never met before.</p><p>“Shall I show you to your chamber?” Violet's voice was soft and tempting. She had patiently waited for most folk to leave until she had decide to make a move again. “I will provide you with everything you'll need.”</p><p>“Fine”, Geralt noticed that he hadn't even asked where he could sleep. He was quick to add. “'Tis late. Just water and my room.”</p><p>“Poor man”, the servant smiled and took his refusal lightly. She picked up an oil lamp from the high table and waved at him to follow her. “Come on, then. All prepared.”</p><p>He had learned that the chamber he had brought Anne to had been Jaskier's children's room and as Violet led him further down the corridor she whispered him information about every door they passed. She was letting him know that the Dowager Countess and her female companions lived in the rear part of the first floor, having severals fireplaces to keep them warm and offer them enough light for their delicate needleworks. The men's quarters could be found right next to the great hall.</p><p>Violet showed him where the late Lord Philipp's yet untouched room was and pointed at the bedroom where the Viscount would sleep tonight if he didn't decide to stay by his wife's side. Geralt just nodded and followed the young woman to the room right next to Jaskier's.</p><p>“Lord Julian thought you would like this. Is has been his father's room. It hasn't been used since his death, but now it's all clean and tidy”, Violet muttered and lead him in, winking at him over her shoulder as she caught the unveiled look of surprise on his face. </p><p>The rectangular room was smaller than Geralt had expected and faintly smelled of dust, beeswax polish, parchment and clean linen. It had its own hearth where a fire some servant had lit during the day had crumbled to ashes and soft glowing embers. The maid bowed down and added some wood from a nearby basket, then used the lamp she held to light pinewood chips to revive the flames again.</p><p>Geralt let his gaze wander about the wooden beam ceiling and the surprisingly modest chalked walls, hung with tapestries showing fishing scenes. The massive and high four-poster bed had dark blue velvet curtains and was high enough to keep the sleeper far way from the ground's chill. His saddlebags were there, waiting for him on a artfully carved bench at the food end of the bed, next to a wooden wash stand that held a bowl, a water jug and linen towels.<br/>
Two large armchairs with high backrests stood in front of the flickering fire. There also was a desk with decorated triangular legs and a vast collection of books on a shelf. A large oak chest had been opened, inviting him to put his personal belongings inside.</p><p>It had clearly been a Lord's private room and yes, it was luxurious, but nevertheless it's simplicity was captivating and Geralt felt that he smiled. Jaskier had once again proved to still be the thoughtful person he had always been during their common travels. True, as a young man, the bard had lacked all the necessary experience of an outdoor life, but he had made it up with hard work and the absolute determination to prove himself a helpful and equal travel companion to the Witcher.</p><p>Violet cleared her voice.</p><p>“Good night then, Master Geralt.” She waited for another second, trying her luck again and then she was gone. The Witcher slowly walked towards the large leaded window, floorboards creaking under his feet. He could hear the sound of waves through the thin material and wondered how much this masterpiece of glassmaking had costed. Dead certain more money than Gotlind had offered him for saving Norderfen from the monsters in the bog.</p><p>Thinking of the little village, he remembered the warmth of Anne's family. The willingness to share their simple meals with him. The loving way Gotlind had cradled her youngest child and how her eyes were shining when she spoke of her deceased husband. They weren't rich people, they had endured their losses, but they had everything they needed to lead a content life.</p><p>And now, Geralt stood in a castle, surrounded by all the luxury and the security a noble birth could offer and he felt terribly cold while imagining a blue eyed boy who had been shut into a cloister school because a hateful woman had decided that a bastard needed to be thoroughly whipped to become a better person.</p><p>The Witcher had never realized that this was something they had in common until this very moment. Unwanted children, forced into enduring a cruel childhood they didn't deserved. But while Jaskier had succeeded in breaking free and becoming the person he wanted to be, famous, brilliant, sincere, Geralt was still trapped in the crippling life lessons that had been imprinted in his body and soul.</p><p>He closed his eyes and focused on his breath to calm down. Mechanically, he stripped and washed, heating the water in the jug with a small wave of Igni, rubbing the dirt of the road away with the linen towels. After redressing in a clean  tunic and trousers, he positioned his weapons at the night stand, finally allowing himself to lie down on the duvet of the bed. The linen sheets stood out bright white in the gloomy chamber, bleached to perfection by the sun, as it was common in households who had the time to wait for their bedclothes to be dried into a fashionable colour. The cushions were too fluffy for his taste and their smell told him it had been stuffed with eagle downy feathers. The duvet turned out to be made out of wool, covered with silk on the topside and sable fur on the inside.</p><p>The fire slowly died and a soft darkness covered the chamber. Geralt stared up on the baldachin, made of the same blue velvet as the bed's curtains that could be closed to keep the cold outside. There was an embroidery only a Witcher's eyes could see in the night time obscurity. It held the Pankratz family coat of arms. It was a shield in blue and silver. A coronet rested atop the shield and a silver fish and two beehives served as the emblem. The luxurious ribbon, hanging above the crest, carried the family's motto, which read: “Light After Darkness”.</p><p>Geralt tended to disagree on that one when it came to his own life. But the words stroke a chord in his chest and he smiled at the realisation that he equalled a lute's tune and that strange, soft tingling sensation of hope he couldn't suppress. He missed Jaskier's music so much, laying on an uncomfortable bed, surrounded by nothing but the lonely silence he has once believed to be the most important aspect of his daily life. </p><p>Finally, he allowed himself to drop into a sleeplike state, somewhere between a meditation and the real, deep rest his body needed. Too exhausted to keep his guard, he slept until the first rays of morning light broke through the window. Life at the castle slowly awoke, his senses could catch distant conversations, the low bark of a dog and a familiar voice in the corridor.</p><p>The Witcher stood within a second, put on his boots and his belt, deciding to just take his hunting knife with him, while he slipped the small silver dagger in his bootleg. He closed up to Jaskier just as the door of the Viscount's former children's room was closed from the inside by a mousy young woman Geralt hadn't seen before. Judging her looks, the dark blonde hair and her simple, but practical clothing, he guessed that she had to be the healer's daughter.</p><p>“How's your wife?” he asked cautiously.</p><p>“Geralt”, the Viscount smiled and turned as he heard Geralt's voice. He looked like he had succeeded in finding some rest, but still, his face wore the clear signs of exhaustion. His greying beard has been trimmed and he wore a white linen shirt, a light blue vest and dark trousers, both of same made of fine wool. “I bet Anne will be back on her feet as soon as she gets bored. Poor Marietta, she will have a tough time with her.”</p><p>“That was the healer's lad, then? You think she can handle?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugged, not even trying to conceal an impish grin.</p><p>“She will learn to swim or go down with the ship. That's life.” Back on a more serious note, he added: “Really, I think they will get along.”</p><p>“Good”, Geralt replied and really meant it. “You slept well?”</p><p>“Unfortunately way to short, but as meek as a lamb after Anne threw me out of her room and told me to get to bed or she would get up and kick me right in the nut”, Jaskier sighed mildly. “Dear Melitele, she's an unparalleled rarity among the women.”</p><p>The Witcher could nothing but agree on that.</p><p>“Speaking of women”, the Viscount picked up the threads again and there was a strange undertone in his voice Geralt come to grips with. “I heard Violet's and your voice in the corridor last night.  Did she wore you out or should I check if you're a Doppler) Never thought you would sleep longer than I did.”</p><p>“No need”, the Witcher grunted good-naturedly, not thinking about explaining that he had rejected the woman's advances. They had never discussed his love life in detail and he wasn't sure it was about time to start that now. He would only stumble upon his words, anyway. “No Doppler would choose my life deliberately.”</p><p>The Viscount clicked his tongue in disbelief.</p><p>“And they say I am the melodramatic part of this -.” He waved his hand between them, indicating a relationship, but struggling to find a fitting description. Geralt felt the other man's hesitation, as well as he discovered that Jaskier's fingers were swollen again. The former bard had to be in pain and as Geralt joined him as the resumed their way to the great hall side by side, he finally noticed it, a sour and acid stench he didn't want to smell on Jaskier at all.</p><p>“Friendship?”, the Witcher offered without even thinking and immediately regretted it. The scent of Jaskier's suffering had distracted him and pushed him into thoughtlessness. </p><p>“Friendship. Yeah, you told me you wanted to be my friend yesterday.” Jaskier's mouth twitched and his eyes lit, but a sort of reluctance dimmed his gaze. “That's quite a big word, considering your distaste for this status for over twenty years. Could you really live with that?”</p><p>“I could”, Geralt responded sincerely and felt the Viscount's warm reaction took a great load off his mind. The way they  interacted these days felt natural again, but it could be shattered into a thousand little shards within seconds. They had experienced it the night before, as Jaskier had lashed out on him over Anne's pregnancy. “You're going to leave now?”</p><p>“The sooner I'm done with this the better. - Gods, it detest this.”</p><p>Jaskier massaged his swollen right hand, wincing at his own touches and the Witcher cursed himself for his helplessness. He wanted to ensure his friend was safe and carefree, but there was nothing he could do to ease Jaskier's pain. The potions he could brew were perfect for Witchers, but deadly for humans. Maybe he could ask that girl Marietta later if she could brink some remedies for Jaskier. </p><p>“I am so sorry”, he mumbled. The crooked smile forming on the Viscount's handsome face made Geralt's heart drop. He feared his feelings would be given away by the look in his eyes, so he stared at the floor instead of maintaining eye contact. But there was an unbearable pressure under his ribs that needed to be released before it broke him inside. “I miss your music.”</p><p>The moment the rash words left his lips he felt that he had ruined everything, again. The overwhelming wave of Jaskier's grief hit him like a rock and he held his breath, silencing himself at all costs. But the Viscount laughed instead of getting furious. It sounded like a sob, heartbroken and desperate. The Witcher didn't dare to look into Jaskier's face.</p><p>“I miss it, too. It was all I had in this life.”</p><p>Jaskier turned and left Geralt without another word, passing through the great hall in a rush, clearly eager to get away from the Witcher as soon as he could. As the sound of his steps faded away on the stone steps,  Geralt rubbed his forehead. The paper thin layer of mutual trust had been ripped apart again and it was his fault. But there was more than self-hate left into Geralt's mind after this encounter. He had a bad feeling about the hollow sound of Jaskier's voice. His friend couldn't have meant what he had just said. Or had he? </p><p>And what did it mean, after all?</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Loyalty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This will be quite a calm chapter, not big cliffhanger - I don't my readers to constantly nearly suffering a heart attack. I hope you like it anyway. And: there will be more cliffhangers to come. Muharhar. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day stretched into infinity and Geralt busied himself with tending Roach, walking the murals for inspections and sharpening his swords. He skipped the lunch Violet offered him as she spotted him in the upper courtyard, examining the structures of the ring wall and taking mental notes where there would be work to do in the next spring. The Witcher had spent endless winter days helping Vesemir and his brother restoring Kaer Morhen's fortifications and knew the weak spots of every material used in the construction process of a fortress.</p><p>Hard work normally helped him to focus on the here and now of life. Hunting monsters was easy. Building walls was satisfying. Finding relief in the tender arms of a woman was fulfilling. Being trapped in a situation that promised no obvious success at the end made him feel itchy and useless. </p><p>But what was the success he was hoping for? That these gnawing feeling of  longing was reciprocal? Geralt had really done atrocious things during his lifespan of nearly a decade, but he had never tried to drive a wedge between married people. And every move in Jaskier's direction would be exactly that. He had hurt his best friend before, he wouldn't dare to do it again. The Viscount deserved to settle down at last, live some comfortable months or years in his new home, witness the birth of a child he had accepted by marrying Anne. </p><p>A black and white cat hissed angrily at him as he entered the palas in the late afternoon. Daylight began to fade to a soft, pink mush at the horizon, indicating a change of weather the Witcher could feel in the air. He shooed the animal away and she left him, prancing like a arrogant queen, reminding him of Yennefer and he smirked against his will.</p><p>His smile wavered as the entered the great hall and saw Anne of Lettehoven, who sat an a bench in a window embrasure, staring out of the window. A long grey coat lined with fur hung loosely around her shoulders to keep her warm. She was dressed in men's clothing, breeches and boots, an ivory linen shirt and a long, dark green vest, contrasting with her pale complexion and her fiery hair. Geralt hadn't expected otherwise -  there wouldn't be a fitting dress for her in this castle she could borrow, being by far the tallest woman around. Apart from that, the Witcher instinctively knew she would never wear women clothes.</p><p>Someone – maybe Marietta, who sat on the opposite side of the embrasure and read a book – had carefully braided Annes red mane, sewing it up into a crown braid on the top of her head that made her appear even taller than she was. Both woman looked up as he approached and Marietta dropped her book in shock, letting out a little shriek.</p><p>“Geralt”, Anne tilted her head and smiled at him, tense, but undeniably friendly. She ignored the young healer, only bowed down stiffly to pick the book up and returned it to the woman. It was from Velen, named 'The Green Gift', a herbalist's standard work. “Good to see you. Is Julian back yet? The bailiff says his mother is expecting him to call on her. I told him to inform her that he will join her as soon as he can spare time.”</p><p>Her nose crinkled a bit, but she didn't show any signs of fear. Geralt silently applauded her for the demonstration of her backbone.</p><p>“Marietta, I would like to speak to Geralt in private. Could you get down to the kitchen and see that Cook minds that the men may return anytime. They will need a warm dinner, spiced wine or mead.”</p><p>The healer shifted uncomfortably and protested weakly.</p><p>“My Da told me to not leave you out of sight. And Lord Julian told me the same.”</p><p>“No, they told you to not leave me alone. Being with Geralt is not being <em>'alone'</em>.”</p><p>Marietta gave up and shrugged, not happy with the situation, but she knew she had been outsmarted here.</p><p>“Yes, Mylady. I will be back later.”</p><p>Book safely tucked under her arm, she hurried down the stairs and left Geralt and Anne behind.</p><p>“<em>Mylady</em>, that's what they call me now. It feels odd”, Anne sighed and stretched her arms, turning her attention at Geralt's face, studying it thoroughly. He felt like an animal wriggling in a wire trap. “Thank you for me catching me yesterday. It seems you are really a man who keeps his promises.”</p><p>“I said I wouldn't hurt you”, the Witcher nodded, struggling with his lack of words. “Good you're up again.”</p><p>“I can't stand to lay around and do nothing.” She rearranged her cloak around her shoulders as a whiff of cold air trickled through the window frame. Geralt had to admit that it was hard to figure her out. “So I might as well sit here and get used to the thought that this will be my life from now on.”</p><p>The Witcher remembered about the couple's fight the morning before and decided to sit down at the unmanned bench, closely observing the woman's face, willing to move away if she would show any for of disagreement. But she remained silent, just folding her hands over her stomach in a subconscious protective way.</p><p>“You don't want to be here." He expressed what had been quite obvious to him before. “You would have preferred to stay in Oxenfurt. Why?”</p><p>Anne rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Have you looked at this fortress, Geralt? How should I fit in here? I am a simple guards woman from a shitty village in the fen. In Toussaint, nobody cared about it. But here? They will find out and then - .” She threw her arms in the air and huffed, but her voice trembled slightly.  “Apart from that, Julian has a home there. All his university friends reside in the city. Oxenfurt is full of art and poetry and music. Things he loves  so dearly. But no, Julian is so determined to get things right and that includes dragging us here. Fuck, I hate losing control over my life, but I can't even blame him.”</p><p>“I think you're underestimating your own abilities”, the Witcher declared in his most appeasing tone. “You are intelligent, headstrong and a true leader. I understand your anger, but you need to see beyond that.”</p><p>“Are you lecturing me about how to live my life?”, she asked and the puzzlement in her face revealed that she hadn't yet decided if she should laugh or yell at him. Geralt shook his head, raising his hands defensively.</p><p>“Just – an advice. I meant no harm”, he grumbled and felt the wire trap close around his throat to slowly throttle him to death. He stared down at his hands. “I am not good with people. Nor words.”</p><p>“I figured that out already.” Anne showed a mercy he didn't felt he deserved. Her gaze touched the darkening sky outside. Thick clouds gathered at the horizon, dulling the colourful autumn dawn to foggy nuances of dark grey. “So, what do you have to say?”</p><p>The Witcher shrugged helplessly, but then decided to give it another try.</p><p>“As long I don't know your history with Jask – Julian, everything I do and say harbours the risk I hurt both of you. Feels like – balancing over a pit of daggers. I don't want that.”</p><p>Anne exhaled and Geralt noticed how hard she was struggling, how obviously these words were bitter and hard to swallow for the woman.</p><p>“He offered you the truth for the truth, didn't he?”, she inquired calmly, letting Geralt know that she and her husband had spoked about the conversation the men had in the cave three nights ago. The Witcher didn't know why be felt betrayed and short of breath – of course a married couple shared its secrets. It knew it shouldn't surprise him at all. </p><p>“But you didn't give away a thing. Instead -.” She touched her belly again and her brow furrowed, her voice dropping. “He told you about the child.”</p><p>“Not everything”, Geralt muttered and wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “But -.”</p><p>“Witcher.” Anne leaned forward and her gaze penetrated him like a stiletto. “Why are you really here? What do you want from Julian?”</p><p>“Nothing.” It was a blunt lie, a terrible lie. It choked him, made his jaw clench in frustration. But it was the right thing to do. How could he possibly tell her the truth? That he had allowed himself to fall for her husband, after so many years of self-deception, after treating Jaskier like dirt? </p><p>“Then -”, her voice wavered, thick with emotions. “I think you need to leave us soon.”</p><p>He knew she was right and that the cold fury that rose from his stomach like acid was only meant to devour him, not her. Everything she had said and done until now had only served one purpose – she desperately wanted to protect Jaskier. How could he not comply to her wishes?</p><p>The main door of the palas opened with a thud and a large group of men took the stairs to the great hall. There was also the distinct smell of wet dogs and the Witcher prepared to move if necessary, his instincts taking over after too many confrontation with wild animals.</p><p>Geralt observed how hard Anne restraint herself to lift her chin and compose herself to greet the new arrivals. The Viscount was the first to enter the hall. His clothes were covered with dust, his boots slick with mud. He looked drained, but strangely content. Three large grey deerhounds shot into the hall, barking and following every human move with their dark eyes.  Their fur was clumped with debris from the road and they looked terribly malnourished. </p><p>The animals playfully chased one another, circling the men who followed Jaskier and who tried hard not to trip over the dogs. Quentin, Pieter and the other guards looked frozen to the bone, hands and faces red, but they laughed and chatted lightly. Some servants were the last to enter, carrying food and trays with hot wine and mead, just like Anne had ordered. They quickly began to set the tables and light the centre hearth as well as the oil lamps. Sharp fumes began to fill the large hall instantly, but the damp cold would linger for very much longer between the thick walls of the palas.</p><p>“Anne! Look what I found in a kennel in the woods. Someone left them for dead, can you believe that! They will make amazing chaperones for you, dear heart.”</p><p>A tired smile flitted across Jaskier's face as he approached his wife and took her hand, bowing over her fingers formally, but winking at her the same time. The glance he threw Geralt was tensed and reserved, but he didn't deny him a smile, although it was a forced one. The uneasiness that had nested in Geralt's chest since their meeting in the morning grew stronger.</p><p>One of the dogs euphorically rushed towards Anne to greet her, but the Witcher's hand shot out between the woman and the animal unknown to him.</p><p>“No. Sit.” He growled. The surprised dog stopped immediately and his ears flattened, his dirty tail pounding on the floor full of innocent excitement. Geralt relaxed a little and finally rose to greet the other dogs and see if they were friendly as their conspecific. They all turned out to be gruffy, but good natured fellows. Their only flaw seemed to be the annoying habit of lying down in the servants' way.</p><p>The distraction thankfully gave him a reason him to move away from the couple who briefly spoke and then excused themselves, leaving the great hall for the family quarters, Anne's fingers resting on Jaskier's forearm. Geralt didn't know if she needed the support or if she tried to adopt courtly manners. He wondered if they went to face Jaskier's mother together, but then chided himself of losing his distance again. Anne was right, it was time he left Lettehove castle. There wasn't anything to give and nothing he could hope to ask for.</p><p>A dog bumped into his knee and he patted the male's dirty head, receiving a  tentative lick on his hand. </p><p>“You stink”, Geralt muttered and decided that he would give the dogs a proper washdown before they were allowed into the great hall again. He belted out a sharp whistle and the animals followed him without any objections towards the stairs.</p><p>Violet, bringing in a large platter of cheese from the kitchens, brushed past him on his way out.</p><p>“It takes a giant to care for these giants”, she teased him lightly, moving her hips in a rousing momentum of femininity. “But don't forget to return for supper, you haven't eaten today.”</p><p>Geralt was relieved to see her open and gentle smile. She obviously held not grudge against him for rejecting her earlier. Her company was as easy as the dogs' presence had turned out to be and the temptation to just give into the young woman's wooing increased with every friendly encounter. It would help him to finally get Jaskier out of his mind. Or at least he hoped so.</p><p>He led the dogs, all of them all terribly sticky and deprived of human attention, to the castle's main well at the first fortification and spent half an hour with basic fur care, removing ticks and other parasites. In the end, all of them – mutant and animals – were soaking wet and exhausted. The dogs instinctively shook themselves to get rid of the water, spraying the Witcher with muddy water once again.</p><p>Is was nearly completely dark when they were done. Black clouds loomed on the sky like hungry predators. The blue and white Pankratz banners flaunted over the castle's battlements,  fluttering in the sharp wind blowing from the north. The guards on duty had lit a fire basket and assembled under the porch of the smithy to smoke their pipes and warm up. First drops of rain fell when Geralt opened the door for the dogs and the animals jostled forward and up the stairs, following the mouth watering aroma of the evening meal.</p><p>The hall was lit by the giant central hearth and the oil lamps on the tables. The golden flames flickered from the draft that blew into the hall through the leaky glass windows and Geralt sensed the increasing humidity in the breeze, as the rain started to pour down in earnest over Lettehoven castle.</p><p>The crowd was much calmer than the day before and the whole atmosphere had changed to a strange gloomy denseness. Maybe because the Viscount and his wife had joined supper this time and looked somber, not talking to each other, only exchanging knowing glances now and then.</p><p>Anne sat in her chair at Jaskier's side, joined by Marietta, who was again holding a book in her lap and still seemed to be quite unhappy that her Lady had fled the sick bed so early. Jaskier just stared into the void most of the time, his plate untouched. His silver goblet was the only thing in the room that had his full attention, as he rolled it between his hands pensively. He only looked up when the dogs tumbled through the hall and started to charm food out of the humans.</p><p>The Witcher circled the hall on his way to get to his room as discreetly as possible, as he left a trail of dirty water on the wooden floor.  He met Violet in front of his chamber, waiting for him, carrying fresh towels over her arm. Geralt couldn't but smile at her welcome sight.</p><p>“You missed a terrible fight”, she whispered and handed him the towels. “The old Viscountess snapped. Everybody could hear it. Glass broke and there were screams.” She shuddered and leaned in, but instead of touching Geralt, as he had expected, she added very seriously. “Lord Julian is not well.”</p><p>She smiled kindly and returned to the great hall to keep up with her work. The Witcher sighed and slipped into his room. He hadn't planned to attend the evening meal, but now, there was no alternative. Jaskier needed him. Geralt hoped Anne would agree with his decision. He wondered what would happen if she wouldn't.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Suicide Attempt. Depression. Alcohol Abuse. Past rape implied.</p><p>So yes, this a serious content warning and if you can't stand it, please don't read this chapter. Let me know if you want a short summary and I will give it in the beginning of the next chapter.</p><p>Personal note: If you feel suicidal, please seek advice! I have been through this whole shit and I made it. You can do it, too! I believe in you. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He quickly changed into his last clean set of clothing,  a rather fine dark grey woollen tunic and pants, and returned to the hall as soon as possible to take his seat on the Viscount's right side. It was Jaskier who had bought him this tunic some years ago in Ellander after an unpleasant encounter with a crypt full of Alghouls. The fight had cost Geralt his gambeson – shredded beyond recognition – and his last tunic. And nearly his right hand, but potions were better at healing flesh than doing a seamstresses job.</p><p>So the next morning, after Jaskier finding out that Geralt had indeed nothing to wear but his trousers and boots, the bard had left their room, announcing that it was finally his time to shine and bring some colour into the Witcher's monochromatic world. When he finally returned, Geralt had lived through a horrible hour of fear that their hard earned money would be invested into some lacy atrocity. But the bard had just smirked and presented him the tunic, woven in a delicate herringbone pattern.</p><p>Jaskier was drunk, Geralt realized in the moment he sat down next to his friend in his chair at the high table. It was something he had seen a hundred times before, but is had never looked like this. Never this calm, never this grim. The  bard's blue eyes were dull and had lost every spark of joy. </p><p>The Witcher stared at Jaskier's profile from the corner of his eyes and blanked out every other sensory impression than the emotions and scent emitting from his friend. To Geralt, the human smelled like an open wound who bled out slowly but steadily. Hopelessness choked up the air around him.</p><p>“Jules”, Anne's very soft voice rang over the table, silent enough to only be heard by her husband and the Witcher. “You should go to bed. It's late.”</p><p>Geralt met the woman's  green eyes over the table and instantly knew she was as worried as he felt. The Viscount tilted his head and looked at his wife, studying her earnest features, lightly adorned with fading bruises.</p><p>“Everything is done, isn't it?”, Jaskier asked her with a  pensive smile and took another sip from his goblet, hand slightly shaking, but not wasting a single drop of the sweet mead he had been drinking. Anne frowned at him and then managed to get hold of the goblet, not pulling it away, but holding it with her strong fingers. The Viscount's mouth twitched as he let go of the mead. He bowed his head in her direction and and accepted the silent request between her words wit no further objection. “You're right, dear. I should leave.”</p><p>He stood, surprisingly steady on his feet, and bent to place a chaste kiss on her forehead.</p><p>“Good night, my Viscountess. You've done so well today.”</p><p>Anne just stared at him as he left for the family rooms, baffled and unsure how to react, slowly putting the goblet back on the table. Her eyes had widened at the touch of Jaskier's lips on her skin and Geralt thought about the couple's friendly bantering about unwanted kisses and broken noses. </p><p>“What?” Anne hissed and Geralt realized he had been caught in the act, observing the brief exchange between his friend and his wife. “Could you just -.”</p><p>A damp snout appeared on Anne's thigh and she winced in surprise as the largest deerhound licked her hand. The animals seemed to feel her distress and eyed her innocently. The Viscountess sighed and patted the dog's head. </p><p>“Four legged chaperones”, she grumbled and the Witcher could see her expression changed again, hiding a tensed smile. “My ass.”</p><p>“I heard things got rough”, Geralt said bluntly, not knowing how to start a decent conversation, but unwilling to just sit and stare at his plate. A fine scent made his nostrils flare. “You smell like blood. Are you hurt?”</p><p>“No, I'm not. The old lady cut herself. A glass she wanted to throw broke in her hand. I bandaged her. Couldn't kick that mean hag out of the window. No matter how I wished for it. - You really can smell that?”, Anne asked him, struck by awe and disbelief, but then seemed to remind herself that she didn't want to get too curious about him and the neutral expression returned to her face.</p><p>“I can smell every single thing in this room. Not just food, perfume or wet fur. Every emotion has its own scent, too. It's part of my mutations”, he explained, trying to sound indifferent about the words. Normally, when people heard this explanation, they tended to question themselves and moved away quickly. Nobody wanted to be sniffed out by a mutant.</p><p>Anne's eyes widened again and shone with a soft sympathy he hadn't expected.</p><p>“Jules told me they – took you when you were a young boy, too young to know what would happen.” Her words were delicately chosen, leaving him the opportunity to not answer if he didn't want to. Geralt felt terribly jaded facing a conversation that he didn't want. It would have been to easy to hate her for the intrusion into his private life, but he knew he couldn't. “I hate not having a choice”, she added, very silently and shoved her plate away, furrowing her eyebrows and finally allowing herself to grab Jaskier's goblet to take a sip. </p><p>“I know”, Geralt said and he meant it. He couldn't fully understand what had happened to Anne and how she must be feeling at the moment, but normally, his presumptions were correct and he pitied her as well as she pitied him. Something dark and terrible had happened to her that had robbed her of all her choices, her home down in the south and her freedom to just care about herself. A red kite, trapped in a cage.</p><p>“And I am sorry about lecturing you. I was in no position to do that.”</p><p>“No, you weren't. But anyway, thank you for the apology.” She looked faintly amused, but sadness filled her eyes. “You're really not making this easy for -.”</p><p>A visibly tipsy man sitting at one of the side tables sprung to his feet and rose his tankard.</p><p>“To our new Viscountess. May she guide us with her wisdom and strength”, he yelled and the other men and women quickly followed his example, standing and drinking to Anne's good health. “And to Lettehove's heir!” The Viscountess cursed under her breath and her eyes narrowed. She knew what she was expected to do and she obviously hated every second of it, as she gracefully stood, one hand resting on the deerhound's massive head. </p><p>Geralt shot her something close to an encouraging glance, but decided not to rise from his rather uncomfortable wooden chair. He wouldn't stand for a person who was celebrated only because he or she was a noble . But he would rise for Anne any other time it should be necessary.</p><p>“Thank you for your kind words. May the holy mother Melitele bless this land and its people.” Anne's fingers held her husband's goblet tight and she rose it into the air, every inch a born leader. “To Lettehove.”</p><p>“To Lettehove!”, the people returned the toast with enthusiasm and then threw themselves into their evening routine, a welcome distraction from their daily chores. Gwent cards were spread on the sticky tables and a flute rung out, clear and sharp, drowning out the sound of rain clattering on the roof of the great hall.</p><p>Anne slumped into her chair's backrest quite ungraciously. She ignored Marietta's reproachful harrumphs, but nevertheless patted the other woman's arm amicably.</p><p>“Yes, I know, no sudden movements, no alcohol, no raw meats”, she promised the healer and the blonde just rolled her eyes on her lady. The women seemed to get along well, as both of them didn't shy away from a little bit of friendly friction. “I think I will retire now. Good night.”</p><p>Geralt nodded at her as she left, feeling the group of deerhounds cuddling against his shins now, not willing to disturb the animals who seemed to be at ease with him. His plate was still untouched, he felt sore and hungry to the bone. Violet kept an eye on him from the corner of the hall where she stood, chatting with some of her friends and he surely didn't want her to scold him about his lack of self care. So he ate and gave every dog some scratches behind their ears.</p><p>A tankard of ale later the Witcher rose as well, being again one of the last persons to leave the room. The deerhounds jumped up to follow him, but he ordered them to lie down next to the central hearth. The fire had slowly died, but the hall was still warmer than the corridors or his quarters. The animals deserved a nice place to spend the night.</p><p>He didn't trouble himself with lighting the stacked firewood in his own chamber. The Witcher didn't need light to orient himself and the man didn't care for the warmth or the comfort of crackling flames. Again, he approached the window and stared out into the night, tracing the raindrops that ran down the glass, feeling the cold air creeping through.</p><p>A knock on the door. He had heard the soft footsteps and expected it to be Violet who pushed the door open. But it wasn't her sweet caramel smell that flooded the room. Anne stood in the doorframe, hugging herself as she shivered and stared into the dark room. She was wearing her warm cloak, but underneath only her nightgown and no shoes. There was horror in her eyes. Geralt felt his nape hairs stand at her sight and was with her in four long strides.</p><p>“What?”, he snapped and received a confused glance.</p><p>“He's – not with you?”, Anne mumbled and then her eyes darkened in a realisation Geralt's couldn't comprehend. He in fact didn't understand anything at all. Why should Jaskier be with him at this time of the day? Why should the bard's wife even assume her husband would be in his room?</p><p>The Witcher felt a guttural growl rise in his throat, primal and beyond his control. He wanted to claw his hands into the woman's shoulders and shake her until she came to her senses again. But then, all of a sudden, all things that had happened throughout the last days finally made sense.</p><p>Jaskier's persistence to put his affairs in order. To make sure his wife had a place where she would be safe and well cared for, with enough money, even a title. The constant scent of physical and mental pain his friend emitted. The heart wrenching helplessness Geralt had seen in Jaskier's eyes. His words.</p><p>
  <em> Everything in done.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was all I had in this life.</em>
</p><p>“No.” The Witcher didn't recognize his own voice. “He wouldn't-.”</p><p>“He tried before. I found him.” Anne's body shook with cold and panic. “We need to -.”</p><p>She turned on her heel and wanted to run, but Geralt leapt forward and caught her wrist. He didn't think about what he was doing. Under normal circumstances, he had never touched Jaskier's wife, but the dark spiral in his chest swallowed up his self control. </p><p>“Please”, he croaked, not finding the strength to even finish a single sentence. “How – did he-?”</p><p>“Jumped a bridge.” Anne froze under his touch but thankfully she did not panic, just bit down on her lip hard. Geralt could smell blood and unshed tears. “The castle wall? The keep?”</p><p>“You stay!” The Witcher bellowed and let go of her hand. “Get help. I will find him.”</p><p>He ran. He would find Jaskier. </p><p>He would.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Falling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Suicide attempt. Graphic description of suicide. Depression. Injuries.</p><p>If you can't read through, please find a short summary at the beginning of the next chapter. Yeah, this was hard to write. :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier's scent had been the first thing Geralt had noticed when the had met for the first time in this rowdy little tavern in Posada. He had hated it instantly, causing a sudden, piercing ache between has temples, irritating and useless as a thorn in his palm after picking a Feainnwedd blossom.</p><p>After passing his trails and being confronted with the world outside of Kear Morhen's thick walls, a young Witcher soon learned that a human's smell matched its owner's emotional complexity. So Geralt had decided to keep away from the kind of humans that would overwhelm his refined senses, soon after realising that their presence dimmed his awareness for danger. </p><p>Jaskier had turned out to be the most multi facetted person the Witcher had ever met. Jaskier had been trouble from the beginning and there had been multiple occasions when Geralt had considered to simply leave the young man in the dust of the road, just get rid of the constant attack of sensual impressions.</p><p>The bard smelt like flowers and sunshine while composing his songs and poems, strumming his lute, holding the wooden instrument like a not so secret lover. He was ripe fruit attracting flies when he performed and warm balsamic amber after ending a masterful and well received performance. Honey and vanilla after a sexual encounter with one of the many women who he had fallen for head over heels.</p><p>After they had been travelling for a few months, Geralt had noticed a new scent radiating from his companion and at first, he hadn't been able to figure out what had changed. That new scent mingled with the overall bright emotions Jaskier emitted, applying a fine layer of calmness to them. Geralt had needed an uneventful winter at Kaer Morhen to come to terms that he wasn't able to understand where this aroma of humus, sandalwood and moss had its origins. </p><p>Until he had met Jaskier again in an inn somewhere in Kaedwen on a crisp spring evening. It had been a young couple's weeding feast. The bard had been standing on a table in the centre of the room and had sung an extraordinary raunchy song to keep up with the town peoples' well advanced drunkenness. The moment Jaskier had spotted the Witcher standing in the doorframe, he had jumped off the table to greet him with a radiant smile, forgetting about his music, his audience and his own intoxication.</p><p>It was only then when Geralt had understood that this new scent was the sensual equivalent for Jaskier feeling comfortable in his company. After that day – and an extra week of whiny complaints, because the bard had sprained his ankle jumping the table after five glasses of wine – Geralt's headache had never returned again. </p><p>The Witcher recalled these days, concentrating on memories and instincts to keep his feelings at bay, as he ran from his room. Jaskier's scent, labdanum and acid lemony pain lingered everywhere in the corridors and Geralt couldn't help but groan out of frustration of not picking up a proper track at first. But the sharp aroma of grief finally led him to the small staircase that connected the women's living room with the castle's outbuildings.</p><p>He passed storage rooms, took another stair and found a corridor that ran alongside the public bath and the kitchen. Lettehove castle's was ancient and as contorted as a building could be, but Geralt relied on his instincts to follow the Viscount's path. Finally he opened a door and found himself in the upper courtyard.</p><p>The rain poured down without mercy and the Witcher cursed, as the faint scent trail was about to disappear in the open air. He circled the area, mud and water splashing under his soles. He could see the guards on the wall and felt relieved they took their duties seriously enough to not leave their post despite of the bad weather. He just hoped that they would have seen Jaskier if he had decided to mount the ring wall of the upper courtyard. That left the castle keep and Geralt's heart skipped one painful beat as he ran to the massive tower's door, finding it ajar and immediately smelling Jaskier again.</p><p>He took three steps at a time, completely relying on his Witcher senses while rushed up the stairs in a hostile darkness. The running didn't even bring him close to breathlessness, but the thought of what he would find nearly suffocated him.</p><p>Jumping to death was a messy thing. He had seen it before, far too often. Is had never touched him deeply, only in a professional way. It was good to know if a person had fallen off a wall or had been smashed by a monster. Normally, a person who jumped would look a little outworldly and twisted. But the impact would tear all the inner organs loose and run jagged bones through spleen, lungs, hearts.</p><p>No. That wouldn't happen, he told himself. </p><p>A shimmer of  golden light greeted him from the slippery platform at the top of the keep. The door had been left open, creaking softly in the gusting wind. Rain pattered on the stones. Geralt could hear a faint breath that wasn't his and his movement froze instantly. Slowing down was the hardest thing he had done for a long time. He couldn't just pretend this was something had was prepared for. This was not going to be a fight. This was something he really feared.</p><p>Jaskier had brought a lantern that stood on the floor, right next to his frail figure. The bard was sitting on the parapet, legs dangling over the abyss. His clothing and hair were soaked and he gently rocked back and forth, maybe because his body told him to move in order to fight the cold. Jaskier hummed a song under his breath, a tune the Witcher had never heard before. He didn't recognize the words, but the sound clutched his heart with iron grip.</p><p>“Jaskier.” The sound vanished in mid air, washed away by the pouring rain, but Geralt knew he had been heard, as the bard's body stiffened. He didn't turn. He just stared into the darkness, focusing on something that was far beyond the cliffs and the roaring, endless ocean.</p><p>A sad chuckle, drunken and hopeless.  The bard slumped slightly forward, dark hair strands veiled the pale skin of his face. Geralt dared to make a single, silent step forward, fearing for one terrible moment that Jaskier would vanish before his eyes. His right hand stung and he felt that his body reacted on his own, as the cleansing sensation of Axii flooded through his veins, manifesting in a shimmering pressure in his palm.</p><p>“Leave me.” Jaskiers voice wavered and suddenly he tilted his head to one side, clearly aware of the soft, blue light that illuminated the platform, turning the pouring rain into a myriad of radiant drops.</p><p>“I can't. Please come down”, Geralt said and wondered how his tone could be so terribly calm.</p><p>“Will you force me to? Enchant me?” It was barely a whisper.</p><p>Geralt's hand instantly feel and the magic retreated into his arm, a feeling resembling naked flesh torn from his bones by an icy blade.</p><p>“No, I won't force you, Jaskier. I am begging you.” Geralt felt that something inside his chest broke into pieces and finally, hot despair sparked through his body, burning away all of his self restraint. “Don't leave me.”</p><p>The bard laughed again, a sound like broken glass in his throat, raspy and gurgling.</p><p>“Why?”, he asked.</p><p>“I am afraid, Jaskier.” The Witcher couldn't find other words than these. The truth. One of the many truths he had never dared to reveal.</p><p>“So it's about you, again?” Now the bard looked at Geralt, really saw him. Blue eyes misted with bone deep exhaustion and water that could be tears. The Witcher was lost for words. He knew, a simple mistake could ruin everything. Could ruin them both.</p><p>“It's about you. And me. I am myself because of you.” Geralt held his breath. That wasn't what he had planned to say because he knew if would feel like a dagger twisting in his guts. He was here to save his friend, not to lay bare his own soul. He knew it was too dark and twisted and would eventually push Jaskier over the edge.</p><p>He held out his hand, barren of magic this time, taking another hesitant step towards the parapet.</p><p>“Geralt.” It was the first time the bard really said his name and it sounded like it was the only thing the man could hold unto at this very moment. His body staggered, crumpled down and the Witcher jumped forward, unable to suppress his  natural instincts any longer. Arms that had been created to hurt and kill, too strong to be capable of tenderness, caught the limp figure and tore it down to the platform's floor.</p><p>The lantern burst under their intertwined bodies and the feeling of Jaskier's head impinging on wet stone echoed through Geralt's flesh.</p><p>“No!”, he growled and leaned over his friend, running his fingers through the bard's hair, feeling and smelling blood at the same time. The Witcher fought off the numbing feeling of petrification, craving for the slightest movement of Jaskier's chest. His hand, stained with the warm liquid that oozed from an ugly  gash at the bard's head, glided downwards to take his pulse.</p><p>Jaskier breathed. His heart beat slow, but steadily. He was alive.</p><p>Geralt slumped down, allowing himself to lean his forehead into his friend's shoulder, just breathing and feeling the rain soaking his tunic. Something hurt, but he ignored it. The lantern, probably.</p><p>“I am sorry”, he breathed, pressing all his vulnerability, all his guilt into three words before he forced himself to recollect the strict ruthlessness of his Witcher education that would allow him to cope with the situation. Strength through action, nothing else.</p><p>He carefully lifted his friend, bedding Jaskier's head at his chest and carried him down the narrow spiral case. Worried shouts rang from the courtyard and as he finally arrived at the ground floor, there were people and burning torches waiting for them. The way to the bard's room vanished in a haze as the Witcher's body just reacted as it should, relying on experience and instincts. Everything Geralt could focus on was Jaskier's heartbeat, becoming the centre of a universe that had lost its meaning.</p><p>Then, suddenly, it was done. He lowered the unconscious body onto the soft blankets of Jaskier's bed and backed off, leaving it to Marietta and Anne to rush to the Viscount's side. He collided with the wall behind him and just leaned into the cold, solid stones, deprived of every responsibility and every control. Lost.</p><p>Muttered words of consolation. Hot water was brought. Swift, determined motions. Wet clothing hit the floor. The scent of blood and healing salve. The Witcher closed his eyes, tried to focus on his own body, grounding himself so that the vortex of emotions could finally subside. Until there was only bodily pain he accepted as punishement for his actions. </p><p>“Geralt?” He opened his eyes again, tired to the bones, wishing for blissful darkness. Anne looked at him, still in her nightgown and her coat, trembling and close to tears. Her complexion reminded his of a dying fire, just ashes and transience. He waited for the impact of her hand in his face.</p><p>Instead, she just hugged him, pressing her face against his wet tunic in a movement that gave away her desperation. The Witcher flinched, battled the urge to push her away, but then felt his arms closing around her fragile shoulders.</p><p>“Thank you”, she whispered. “Thank you. He'll be alright.”</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Sense of Duty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Short summary: Geralt finds Jaskier on the platform of the keep, ready to jump and Geralt tries to talks him out of It, tells him “I am myself because of you.” to keep the bard from committing suicide. Jaskier faints, Geralt  pulls him harshly to the safe ground and Jaskiers suffers a head injury, but luckily a minor one.</p><p>Content warnings: mention of suicide attempt and vomiting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You're bleeding”, Anne said and stared at her hand, as she retrieved it from Geralts back. The hug had felt strange, but Geralt found it was not as awkward as it could have been. The woman's eyes widened. “What -?”</p><p>“It's nothing”, Geralt grunted, unwilling to answer further questions, but he knew that the woman deserved answers. He had saved Jaskier from the keep, but he had hurt him while doing it and a small voice inside of his head sneered and told him that he would probably never be able to be with his friend without harming him. “We both fell.”</p><p>Jaskier's wife looked at the bard, safely tucked in his large four poster bed, the pale figure illuminated by candlelight, head covered with a linen bandage. Then her gaze lingered on the Witcher again and she gave him a small nod. There were no accusations, just exhaustion and a small amount of curiosity. </p><p>“Marietta?”, she said as she turned away from Geralt, addressing the young healer who sat at the Viscount's bedside and packed her medical instruments. She had sewn Jaskier's scalp with perfect, small stitches after examining the wounded man's head and eyes thoroughly. “Could you check on Geralt as well, please?”</p><p>The healer's eyebrows nearly disappeared behind her fringe as she heard the words, eyes wide with shock. The young woman was clearly afraid of him and Geralt shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It was past midnight and nerves were on the edge, he didn't want to risk any more discomfort for the bystanders.</p><p>“No need. It will heal overnight”, he declined as politely as possible. Anne made a wry face, but didn't push him. “May I stay?”, he asked, feeling almost shy. There was nothing he wanted more than that, but he understood that he wasn't in the position to decide. As Jaskier's wife shook her head, he tried to accept her decision as stoically as possible.</p><p>“I will stay with him tonight and you rest, Geralt. Please.” The Viscountess smiled at him without any resentment, but there was a determination in her eyes that forbade any objections. “Maybe we could take turns tomorrow morning? I will send somebody to wake you.” She paused and held his gaze with ease, but he knew she wasn't prepared for an argument. The Witcher saw that she, too, was close to a breakdown. “I promise.”</p><p>Geralt barely produced a nod and turned to leave the chamber. The Viscountess followed him and for a moment, he didn't understand, but as he was greeted with the sight of a corridor full of people, he became aware why Anne had decided to join him. The deerhounds rushed to his side as he made his way through the corridor, not finding it difficult because the inhabitants of Lettehove castle carefully made room for him. </p><p>As he entered his own chamber, he took the nervous animals in as well and was relieved to see somebody had lit up his hearth. He could overhear Annes serene words about an accident at the keep and silently approved her efforts to keep her husband's countenance. Most people had seen that the Viscount had been drunk, so they would possibly believe this version of the night's events. Geralt despised lies, but he knew  they sometimes were legitimate when it came to protecting others.</p><p>His wet clothes hit the floor boards and seconds later, he collapsed on his bed. This time, the silky sheets felt just fine and he didn't think about his blood ruining the soft fabric. This last thing he perceived was the low whine of the dogs and he grumbled a low murmur of solace before passing out into a deadlike slumber.</p><p>He woke to a soft knock and as he opened his eyes, soft morning light flooded his senses. The deerhounds jumped and scratched the door as he grunted a 'Come in' and sat up. The moment Violet entered the chamber and chased the dogs again good-naturedly, Geralt's noticed that he was naked and he achieved to grab a cushion before things got out of hand.</p><p>The maid just smirked and shot him an approving look, although her eyes lingered on his scarred and still patched up chest with a worried look. </p><p>“The Lady says you could come to Lord Julian's room now”, Violet informed him and collected his dirty clothing of two days from the floor. “Should we wash these?” She clearly wouldn't accept a no as an answer. Delicately sniffing the air, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there something dead inside your satchel?”, she inquired and Geralt cursed under his breath.</p><p>“Some – animal's eyes”, he muttered. How could he have forgotten about the Koshchey's eyes? He decided to get rid of them later, because asking for a jar of strong alcohol to preserve them might be too late by now. Another pressing matter was more important at the moment. “Could you provide me with fresh clothes?”</p><p>Violet took the information about rotting eyes well enough. The lush blonde just blinked in surprise and tapped her lip while thinking.</p><p>“Could be difficult to find another man here who's built like a aurochs. Never mind. I'll be back.”</p><p>She glided off and Geralt snorted a laugh. Aurochs? That was a new one.</p><p>The little distraction was soothing. It helped him to push his sorrow and the everlasting feeling of guilt back into place, just behind his facade. He took his time to wash and removed the blood stains from his skin. There was no mirror, but his fingertips could feel that the cut on his ribs had already started to scar. As Violet returned, he at least wore a towel to hold on his dignity. </p><p>“Marcus's had some”, she smiled and handed Geralt a tunic and a pair of trousers. Simple, but warm wool in an undefined brown, here and there a tiny hole, well fitting for a blacksmith. The garment smelled of ashes and wood fire. “Should be a bit tight, but they'll do.”</p><p>She allowed him some privacy and left, the dogs on her heels, as the animals had definitely smelled the breakfast. </p><p>Quickly, Geralt tied the trousers to his braies, slid into the tunic and returned to Jaskier's chamber once more. His heart rate increased as he knocked and entered, focussing on the soft female voices inside. The sickroom was dim, curtains closed. A wise decision considering the Viscount surely had suffered an concussion from the impact on the ground. Geralt could perceive the stench of vomit and sweat, but also of soap and healing herbal tea.</p><p>Anne greeted him with a smile. She was fully dressed and looked well composed, putting on her leather gloves as she approached him. Marietta stayed in her chair next to Jaskier's bed and shot Geralt a sceptic glance.</p><p>“Could you stay with him until I return?”, the Viscountess began without beating about the bush. “We arranged for Isabel de Lettehove to leave today and I don't want to delay her departure.”</p><p>The Witcher gave her a puzzled look and Anne turned to the young healer, smiling gently, but the tone of her voice left no doubt that this was a dismissal.</p><p>“Your father should be here to take over any minute now, Marietta. Thanks for your help.”</p><p>The girl sighed and rose, leaning over Jaskier's sleeping body again to check on him, before she did what she had been told. Finally alone, Anne sighed and rubbed her eyes.</p><p>“His mother showed up at dusk, demanding to see him. I refused and she spat some nasty curses. I want her gone.” Her bad conscience was too obvious to hide. Geralt saw it was gnawing on Anne's soul. “Before  she starts real trouble. Neither of us is ready to face this at the moment.”</p><p>The Witcher hummed in agreement.</p><p>“I could accompany her”, he offered. “No need to leave. You should rest.” It wasn't what he wanted, but it was obviously the right thing to do at them moment. Anne bit her lip and slowly shook her head.</p><p>“I know, but -.” She shot Geralt a crooked smile. “I managed to sleep for some hours. And I really need to get out of here for a while. Can you understand that? I know you will watch over him and Master Kiennan should be here any minute. I sent for him an hour ago to take over his daughter's duties.”</p><p>“I can”, the Witcher assured her, not resenting her for her choice of following her needs. He could understand that she wanted to escape from the situation. It has been hard days for here. She deserved some time at her beloved horse's back, inhaling the fresh, salty air, calming down. He just hoped she wouldn't collapse again. “How is he?”</p><p>Geralt deliberately changed the topic, steering the conversation away from Anne's strained nerves. As intended it was helping her to focus again and she was quick to explain:</p><p>“He woke up twice, threw up, drank some tea. He is focused, although he was in pain and very dizzy.” she paused. Suddenly, she looked younger than she actually was, pale and frightened. “You said you – fell?”</p><p>The Witcher exhaled quietly, feeling that the amount of his guilt showed on his face.</p><p>“He was sitting on the parapet. We talked. He suddenly fell unconscious. I grabbed him and then -. I am sorry.”</p><p>“No!”, Anne stared at him in disbelief and for a moment it seemed that she wanted to hug him again, but last night's shock had faded and she was keen on keeping her distance again. “Don't feel sorry. You saved him. I will be grateful forever, Geralt!”</p><p>He didn't want her gratitude, he thought remorsefully. Nor her pardon. The Witcher knew that, under different circumstances, he might would have considered her as a trusted friend. But the phantom of an unspoken challenge and anger that tore his soul apart was still there, whispering to him.</p><p>“Does the girl know?”, he asked seriously, referring to Marietta. “Heard your speech last night.”</p><p>Anne shrugged and fastened her cloak, keeping her fingers busy.</p><p>“Even if she suspects something, I think she'll be discreet. She's a witty girl.”</p><p>Silence fell again, heavy and full of shared concerns.</p><p>“May I ask you something, Anne?” There was a questions Geralt could not get out of his mind, no matter how hard he had tried. The woman hesitated, her eyes guarded, but she tilted her head in approval. “Why did you think he was with me last night?”</p><p>Anne's hands fell from the hood of her cloak and she opened her mouth, but not a sound came out for a while. She licked her lips and he could smell her discomfort. In the end, she sighed, avoiding his gaze.</p><p>“You two were so close for a long time. You still are, even after your parting. I might have been – jealous.”</p><p>Geralt blinked. That was quite a confession and it distrubed him deeply. He knew how she was experiencing and again, he felt the gap he had constructed so eagerly diminishing. He coughed, his own voice nearly failing him as he knew he was on dangerous grounds.</p><p>“No need”, he murmured and achieved to show something that should be encouraging smile. “Jaskier and I are friends. You are his wife. There is no competition.” Actually hearing the words he had been telling himself over and over again in his head felt like a sharp axe crushing down on his neck. There was not way to get out of his promise now without giving up his pride and self esteem.</p><p>“Thank you.” Anne folded her arms over her chest. There was a strange nuance in her eyes the Witcher couldn't read, but he was astounded he sensed a wave of amusement trickle out of her pose, as if she was secretly mocking him. It didn't help his uncertainty to fade away. “I appreciate your words. I begin to realize  what he seems in you.” There it was again, her genuine honesty and determination that had never failed to amaze him. “I need to go. Duty calls.”</p><p>“You will do well.” It slipped out unintentionally, but it was met with an warm smirk. He was surprised she refrained from clawing his eyes out for his patronising tone.</p><p>“I have been in a knight's service for eight years, Geralt. Henri-Jean de la Valette. He made sure I would be prepared for any challenge I would meet in life. He clearly expected something more chivalrous, but this is quite close to it.”</p><p>A knock on the door announced the arrival of Master Kiennan healer and Anne left as soon as she had filled him in with her instructions for the day. It surprised Geralt that she expressed her full trust in the Witcher's decisions when it came to Jaskier's health. Kiennan didn't object, in fact, he muttered something that sounded like 'They know their herbs' and went on the see if his daughter had done everything right. </p><p>The healer silently hummed with satisfaction as he removed the bandage and inspected the head wound, covered with a healing salve. Geralt couldn't but stride to the other side of the bed and observe every move the older man made, but he could not detect any flaws in the way the healer treated his friend. He noticed some bright read hairs on the bedsheets and realised Anne had slept next to her husband during the night.</p><p>Soon Jaskier's head had been covered with a new bandage and Kiennan lowered the Vicount's head into the soft cushion with uttermost care, before the man's glance met Geralt's. </p><p>“It never rains but it pours, Master Witcher. But things will improve from now on, Melitele be kind.”</p><p>Geralt hummed at that display of encouragement and sat down on his chair.</p><p>It took another hour before Jaskier finally opened his eyes with a groan and Geralt sprang to his feet to lean over the bed. He nearly bumped his head into Kiennan's and felt embarrassed and relieved at the same time, because Jaskier let out a weak laugh.</p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>“Yes?” He smiled down at his friend, treasuring the sight as something he would cherish for the rest of his life. The bard was safe, he would recover. He would live. There was nothing more he could ask for.</p><p>“Thank you”, Jaskier whispered, fumbling for Geralt's hand and the Witcher caught his hand with his without even thinking. Their eyes met, amber and cornflower blue.</p><p>“Always, Jaskier.”</p><p>He meant it.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Caught</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier fell asleep after the soft words and Geralt let go of his hand, reluctantly, but very aware of Master Kiennan observing him. The Witcher sat down on the too small chair next to the four poster bed and let his elbows rest on his knees, body bent forward, staring alternately at his friend or the wooden floor. </p><p>He had always hated when Jaskier got injured during their mutual travels. It hadn't always been a monster that got too close to the curious bard, sometimes it had been raging cuckolds, disappointed female lovers or just the insecurities of the Path. Tempests, landslides, once a bridge collapsing under their feet as they had been driven away by hateful townsfolk. </p><p>Geralt had to admit that sometimes, he had made Jaskier believe that some of these incidents were his own fault. Because the talkative peacock hadn't kept his mouth shut, his trousers buttoned up or his feet still. Just as he had blamed the bard for the incident with the djinn or the child of surprise he never wanted. </p><p>He had acted as if Jaskier had stolen him something but in fact, all these events were the simple outcome of the greatest gift a human ever had made him: Jaskier had given him twenty summers of his life. And Geralt had accepted it without accepting that the bard's nature would change his world. Yes, sometimes even to the worse, but that was life. Up's and down's.</p><p>He had refused to see that there would have been less problems if he would had taken an active part in this friendship. If he would have talked to Jaskier, if he would have cared about his well being. As for the disastrous love affairs, well, he wasn't sure how he could have protected his friend from these.</p><p>To sum it up, he had shifted the burden of responsibility – his responsibility – to the bard's shoulders. It felt terrible to admit that he had been acting a coward. He could have – and maybe he had - excused his behaviour with his mutations, the pain of a terrible childhood and the disadvantages life as a Witcher normally entailed.</p><p>But if he was honest with himself, there were thousand of people at the Contingent who struggled and many of them achieved to overcome pain, war, losses, illnesses. Being human. Being weak. Being mortal.</p><p>Geralt sighed and looked up, meeting Kiennan's sympathetic gaze. </p><p>“I will see to get you some food”, the healer suggested and rose. Something cracked in his back and he suppressed a groan.  “And maybe stretch my legs, if you don't mind?”</p><p>Kiennan dared to open the curtains a slight gap only and suddenly the Witcher became aware that the sun had already passed its zenith and the morning fog had dissolved to unveil a beautiful autumn afternoon. The sky was incredibly blue and bright.</p><p>“I don't”, Geralt replied, understanding the need to move, to do something that felt productive and offered the opportunity to be useful. He watched the healer hobble out on stiff legs and sighed. Staying at Jaskier's bedside confronted him with too much haunting insights for his taste. Nevertheless, he wouldn't leave the room until it was absolutely necessary. </p><p>The Viscount's groaned and breathed easier, waking again. The Witcher rose slowly and dared to sink down on the soft mattress next to his friend. It felt strange to just sit at the bedside and observe the smallest changes in Jaskier's face. The way his eyebrows furrowed when his body realized that there was pain waiting for him in the process of awakening. How he pressed his lips as he stifled another sound. All these small wrinkles, signs of pain and laughter, of living a life to the fullest.</p><p>Finally, the startled look in Jaskier's eyes as he came to full consciousness and saw Geralt.</p><p>“You're still here.” The bard sounded surprised and the Witcher didn't understand why Jaskier had doubted to see him again.</p><p>“Of course”, he assured his friend. His smile faltered as a deep insecurity took over. “Won't be going anywhere.”</p><p>Jaskier's fingertips brushed over his bandaged head and he sighed deeply. His shame did not only rose to his cheeks, but also oozed out from every pore of his body.</p><p>“Geralt.” His voice was terribly frail. “I am so -.”</p><p>“Don't.” The Witcher hissed, suddenly very aware of how he would hate to hear only a single word of remorse. “Don't you dare to apologize!”</p><p>Jaskier groaned, but couldn't hide a smile tucking the corners of his mouth.</p><p>“Could you not yell at me? Please? My head's going to explode.”</p><p>Geralt's mouth felt shut with a clack of his teeth and he considered his next sentences extremely careful.</p><p>“Just wanted to say, that there's no need to be ashamed”, he hummed and fought the impulse to take Jaskier's hand again. In all these years of mutual friendship, it had always been the bard who had induced tiny gestures. A clap on Geralt's shoulder, fingers brushing while passing over the bread they were sharing, the accuracy of Jaskier's hands when he had stitched Geralt up after a hunt gone wrong.</p><p>He thought of Yennefer again and the way she had always approached him. The sorceress, too, had been at ease with him being close, sharing physical intimacy and passion. Her touches had always been the expression of her wishes, her strong dedication to her own goals. He had adored her for these character traits and he still did. </p><p>But he couldn't but realize that Jaskier's carelessness when it came to body contact hadn't just been another trait of the minstrel's extroverted personality, but also his way of demonstrating the world that he would never give up his efforts of showing that a Witcher deserved friendship, closeness and care.</p><p>A gift for Geralt, again. Something completely undeserved and now, even more unbearable, facing the brutal truth this this situation, Jaskier's despair, was something he knew he was to blame for. At least partially, even if he couldn't guess the extent of his his fault. </p><p>“Jask – Julian, whatever help you may need, we all will be here for you.”</p><p>“<em>Jaskier</em> is fine, Geralt”, the Viscount breathed, clearly touched by what he had just heard. It seemed like he wanted to add something, but then he just smirked melancholically.  He still looked ghostly pale. “Really.”</p><p>“Good”, the Witcher grunted and couldn't help but smile. “I'm not a smart man. Too many names will overstrain my brain.”</p><p>Jaskier chuckled, but then made a pained grimace.</p><p>“Gods, please no humble understatement to make me feel better. That's my job. Could you -.” He gestured toward the cup of cold feverfew and chamomile tea on the nightstand next to the bed and Geralt passed it over. Their fingertips met for a brief, excruciating moment. “Thank you.” Jaskier sipped and wrinkled his nose. “Where's Anne?”</p><p>“Accompanying your mother to her new home. She thought it would be the best for all of you to stick to your plans.” Jaskier nodded weakly and Geralt took the empty cup from his hands. He saw the bard had exerted himself way too much. “Sleep some more.”</p><p>“Will do”, the bard mumbled and blinked, his fatigue taking over again. Geralt watched him drifting into a deep slumber and exhaled, hoping that the pressure that had been building up in his chest would finally abate.</p><p>As Kiennan reentered the room, the Witcher had moved over to the chair again, restoring the distance he had given up so easily. Violet followed the healer, carrying a tray with a water jug, a green glass chalice, bread, slices of raw ham and two apples, flashing Geralt a fond smile. She lowered the food onto the writing desk and left again.</p><p>“Ah, I see he woke and drank his tea? No vomiting? Excellent”, the healer murmured, took Jaskier's pulse and touched the bard's forehead to see if his patient was feverish. After this, the two men fell in comfortable silence. Kiennan had brought a book he could read in the small ray of sunlight that fell through the gap between the curtains and very much resembled his young daughter, who obviously seemed to share her father's love for reading.</p><p>The afternoon passed slowly, with Jaskier drifting in and out of sleep, only answering Kiennan's questions about his condition and drinking the sleep medication the healer had prepared for him. Dawn was breaking when the clutter of hooves rang from the courtyard. Geralt rose to light the candles and the hearth with well dosed flashes of Igni, surprised that the healer did not jump into curious questions about a Witcher's way of using magic. Instead, the old man just sighed in relief as he moved his chair closer to the flames, seeking the warmth that began to flood the chamber.</p><p>Minutes later, Anne de Lettehove opened the bedroom's door and peeked in, making eye contact with Geralt, who instantly moved to meet her at the threshold.</p><p>“How is he?”, she asked mutedly, crumbing some dried mud out of her hair. Her smile was genuine, but tired. </p><p>“Better. Master Kiennan gave him a remedy to help him sleep through the night”, Geralt answered and frowned as she leaned on the doorframe, lips a small line of pain. “You should go to bed, too. I have slept last night, I can stay with him until tomorrow morning.”</p><p>She hesitated, but then gave in, unclasping her cloak with unsteady hands. Her voice, however, was sharp as a blade.</p><p>“Fine. But wake me if anything changes, you hear me, Witcher?” </p><p>That sounded like a veritable threat and Geralt suppressed a groan. How could he had ever considered the Viscount and his wife ill-matched? They clearly shared the same unnerving sense of impertinence.</p><p>“Why aren't you afraid of me?” It was something he had always wanted to know. Anne just smirked at him, but her eyes were dark and hard.</p><p>“Because I refuse to be frightened ever again. - See you later, Geralt.”</p><p>The Witcher resumed his watch and soon was joined by Marietta. She took over for her father, who preferred to spend the night in his own bed in the fishing village. The young woman's nervousness smelled like an overripe fruit, but she made a stand against her fear and tried to make herself comfortable. At some point, he handed her his chair cushions and the leftover apple from lunch and she didn't flinch. That was something he considered a success.</p><p>It was past midnight again and Violet appeared again, rebuilding the fire and bringing more logs to fill the large basket next to the hearth. She left the door ajar, as she gracefully slipped in and out of the room, providing more water, food and even a bottle of wine. Geralt could hear the sounds from the great hall slowly fading, as the castle residents retired for the night.</p><p>Marietta had fallen asleep in her chair, curled up in an position that didn't look very healthy or comfortable. Violet added two large logs to the embers in the hearth and blew into the glowing remains of the fire, kneeling next to the hearth and offering quite a lovely view. She pointed at the other woman and clicked her tongue compassionately, whispering:</p><p>“She assisted at the birth of a baby boy before coming here again. She's totally exhausted.” Her smile widened considerably. “I could offer her my bed and stay with you instead.”</p><p>Geralt suppressed a grin. He liked persistence and Violet's way of  flirting with him was charming, but light hearted. He knew she wouldn't feel insulted when he turned her down.</p><p>“Thanks for the offer, but I am afraid I have to decline again.”</p><p>“I guess there's someone in your life, Master Witcher?”, the girl teased and brushed the ashes from her dress. She came over, knelt down next to his chair and folded her arms on the armrest, her blonde hair illuminated by the fire like a halo. Her eyes were observant, but kind. Geralt looked down and smiled, openly this time.</p><p>“Yes, there is someone”, he answered and was surprised how sincere these words felt. How easy it was to admit his feelings. He was very aware of the soft footsteps who had stopped in front of the door. He could smell a hint of soap and alcohol.</p><p>Violet hadn't noticed the presence of another person and sighed in romantic delight, not jealous at all. There was a polite cough as the door opened with a creak. Violet jumped to her feet, turning and facing the amused face of Anne de Lettehove who entered the chamber and observed the whole scene. She carried a mug, filed with steaming mulled wine and had obviously slept and bathed. Her damp hair had been arranged into a single, long braid and she wore clean clothing. Anne's skin still radiated the warmth of the bath and Geralt found she looked more feminine and soft than ever. More vulnerable.</p><p> The Witcher didn't feel embarrassed, but poor Violet obviously did and blushed heavily.</p><p>“I -. My Lady, I am so sorry!”, she stammered, feeling distressed even as the young Viscountess just waved her free hand easily. </p><p>“Calm down”, Anne smiled and glanced at Marietta, who sleepily opened her eyes and nearly dropped out of her chair as she recognized the Viscountess. “Get some sleep. Both of you.”</p><p>She waited for the maid and the healer to leave, then closed the door carefully. Slowly she walked over to the bed and sat down next to her husband, her weight pressing down the mattress and the Witcher asked himself if she was aware of the symbolism of her act, building a living and breathing barrier between the two men with her own body.</p><p>Geralt extended his hand and took her mug as Anne slipped out of her soft leather shoes and leaned on the bed's carved headboard, covering her crossed ankles with a part of the silk blanket. Her hand brushed a strand of Jaskier's dark hair from his temple and looked down at the sleeping man with silent tenderness.</p><p>Geralt felt his breath hitched.</p><p>“I am glad he has you”, he croaked and returned the mug as Anne turned her head to focus on him again. She smirked sadly and took a sip of wine, humming delightedly at the sweet taste.</p><p>“Even I'm not at all what you expected”, she answered contemplatively and sighed.</p><p>“No.” He stared down at his fingers crossing, untying and crossing again. The display of Anne's affection for her husband left him restless and the pile of guilt in his throat threatened to suffocate him.</p><p>“Geralt?” The Witcher looked up again and was surprised by the Viscountess soft expression. “I am sorry I haven't told you about his condition earlier. It was a mistake. I thought I could handle it on my own. And I failed.”</p><p>“It was a private concern”, he replied gently. “And you didn't know me at all. Perfectly understandable.”</p><p>Anne nodded pensively and wrapped her fingers around her mug, staring into the dark liquid for a while. As she rose her voice again, it was very calm, but there was a desperate note in it that made the Witcher freeze.</p><p>“I have asked you earlier, Geralt, but I might rephrase my question. Now that I know you better.” Their eyes met again and there was a grim determination in Anne's glance. “How to you feel about him?”</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. A Fairytale</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>CW: mention of a suicide attempt and depression</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How do you feel about him?”</p><p>There was no way he couldn't answer Anne's silent question. But what should he tell her? The truth? That he had fallen for her husband long ago, but never had the courage to admit it? Because he feared love, knowing that it would eventually end and that he, the despicable mutant, didn't deserve it anyway? </p><p>How pathetic that would sound to the woman Jaskier had <em>married</em>? A woman who was pregnant with a child the Viscount had accepted under the protection of his name, even if he wasn't the father?</p><p>Or he could lie and tell the tale about friendship and two men who had profited from one another's company. Who would came to another conclusion when hearing the tale? The whole Continent believed it, anyway. </p><p>But Anne would know. Geralt equally adored and hated intelligent women and his mind raced to find the right words, but he couldn't. So he just sat there, staring at the Viscountess pale face and remained mute.</p><p>“Really?”, Anne quirked him a pensive smile. He had expected rage or disappointment. The way he behaved gave her every right to get rid of him, expel him from Jaskier's life once and for all. His body tensed, bracing for the impact that had to come. “Nothing to say at all?”</p><p>The large man felt naked, stripped of all the layers of self protection he had wrapped around himself like the armour he wore every day. A complexly woven tapestry, made of so many colours and materials, of memories and forgotten dreams, of disappointment and a life far too long to hold a meaning any more.</p><p>“I will be gone by dusk.” His body felt like it had been turned into a glacier as he stiffly stumbled to his feet. Unbearably cold, sharp edges everywhere, freezing over into his body where the sharp pain being on the rise in his veins hurt like an overdose of Shrike, slowly poisoning him to his death.</p><p>He gasped for air, his vision blurring into a foggy, velvet dark haze.</p><p>“No.” Anne said, and then, again, as he refused to react to her sharp tone. “Geralt, no!”</p><p>Reality lost its grip and his mind went blank. Suddenly he found himself sitting on the mattress, head bent down, elbows on his thighs, just breathing. A firm hand was rubbing circles on his back. Gentle touches, but insistent enough to help him regain focus on the outside world. Shame surged through his guts, but he wasn't able to lift his hand and put an end to the undeserved kindness.</p><p>“Better? You scared the shit out of me!” Anne laughed, mutedly, kneeling at his side on the bed. He dared to look up and found nothing but earnest concern in her face. If just didn't feel right, being comforted by a woman he barely knew, who was in bitter need of consolation herself.</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“That'll do.” She slipped off the bed and brought him the green chalice, filled with water. Instead of sitting down next to him again, she sank on the abandoned chair and pulled her bare feet from the floor to sit cross-legged. As she noticed the chair cushion was missing, Geralt passed her one of the many silk covered pillows that could be found on the bed so she could lower it on her belly and hug it tightly. He wondered how old she really was. Twenty-five? Maybe younger?</p><p>His eyes lingered on Jaskier's face for a moment. The Viscount was fast asleep, drugged with the herbal remedy Kiennan had given him, and his complexion had returned to normal. His full beard, dark brown and streaked with grey, had been trimmed the day before, but the inevitable stubble showed on Jaskier's cheekbones again. The dark hair contrasted with the clean white of the bandage that covered the bard's head.</p><p>“Once upon a time”, Anne said and Geralt's head whipped back to her. She had taken up her mulled whine again to warm her fingers and stomach. The Witcher became sharply aware that she had abandoned Jaskier's side and allowed Geralt to linger on the soft bed next to his friend, an earnest demonstration of her trust. “There was a young girl in a village in the fen. All she ever wanted was to become a knight. The day before the girl should be married off to a peat cutter thrice her age, her elder sister gave her some coin and a man's garb and told her to run as fast as she could. She did.”</p><p>Geralt gulped down the water and put the chalice on the nightstand. The terrifying cold left his limps and he felt that his cramped shoulder muscles began to relax. Jaskier and Anne both had told him that he needed to open up if he wanted to learn about their secrets. But he hadn't. A Witcher was a creature who was brought up to never let his guard down. It had cost Geralt all his strength to shield from the couple's intrusion into his life, their unique way of getting under his skin day by day. </p><p>Now the bargain they had offered had been declared null and void. It was made clear by the soft and simple narration, even tough Geralt knew it wouldn't be a happy fairytale at all.</p><p>“Being no great beauty, it was easy for her to dress as a boy. She went South, because she hated the cold of the North. It took her quite a while to cross the continent. Sometimes she stole food and clothing to survive, but most of the time, she tried to make money on her own. She had been working as a stable hand in a fine tavern in Belhaven, when suddenly, one winter's night, a naked man crashed through the roof of the barn.”</p><p>Geralt coughed and couldn't help but smile. That was a way too familiar description of a situation he had experienced with Jaskier before.</p><p>“He promised her everything she'd ever wanted if she didn't give him away to the group of furious men who were after him. She took pity on him and hid him in a haystack until things had calmed down. Next morning, she sneaked into his room and fetched his personal belongings. Fine clothing, terribly bright, and a lute. As the still very naked man finally introduced himself properly, she realised who he was, because she had heard people talking about him. The most famous bard on the Continent, with relations to all courts of the North and the South. Destiny was smiling upon her, she knew it. So she told him what she wanted and he accepted.”</p><p>The Witcher allowed himself to steady his body at the headboard of the bed, moving very carefully to not disturb Jaskier's slumber. </p><p>“He's always true to his word”, he murmured, the first real thing he had been able to utter after his strange breakdown and Anne nodded at him, not minding his interruption.</p><p>“So, they went to Toussaint. There was music and poetry. The bard taught her how to read properly and she tried to keep him out of trouble, because he had the annoying habit of hooking up with anything that had a pulse. - Geralt, please, did you really think I didn't know?”</p><p>Anne had caught him staring. The Viscountess laughed out with visible delight and still snickered into her mug when she took another sip of wine.</p><p>“After a night full of hard liquor, the minstrel finally found out his companion was a woman. Intoxicated as he was, he mistook their growing friendship and closeness for something far less innocent.”</p><p>Geralt furrowed his brows. That didn't sound like his friend at all. Jaskier had always strongly emphasized that it was morally imperative all his bed partner fully consented to their love affairs.</p><p>“He kissed you and you broke his nose. Damn right you did that”, the Witcher muttered, recalling a playful exchange the couple had some days ago.</p><p>“Thank you.” Anne bowed her head gracefully. “The story goes on like this: The girl forgave the bard, as he really was in a desperate mood the next morning. It was the first time she noticed that he wasn't all joy and songs and happiness, but, in fact, very sad and very dependant of what other people thought of him. The girl hadn't seen it until then, as he was a brilliant actor and hid this side from the world far too well.”</p><p>Anne rose and put away her mug, stretching her legs and arms. A shiver ran through her body, maybe because the night's cold was trickling through the window and the walls. Geralt stood in an instant and headed for the hearth, adding some logs to the fire until the flames roared again. When he turned his head he saw the young woman had moved over to the side of the bed facing the hearth. As Geralt found himself glancing hesitantly at the spot where he had initially sat, Anne just smiled and made an inviting gesture. In the end, they both settled down on the bed, their backs leaning on the headboard, framing the bard's sleeping body with their own. The atmosphere was intense, but never hostile, Geralt noticed and felt relieved, but still ashamed of his own weakness. Anne covered her lap with a cushion again and the Witcher didn't know if she wanted to keep the child warm or if she was subconsciously trying to hide her condition.</p><p>“Later, they met Henri-Jean de la Valette, an old friend of the bard's. Member of the Ducal Guard who secured the borders from any predators who posed a risk to the small duchy. The knight was a noble man, but reluctant to take a woman into his service. The minstrel nevertheless sang her praises and de la Valette decided to give it a try. She should stay for eight years.”</p><p>Anne smiled wistfully. Her nimble fingers plucked downs from the pillow she was holding.</p><p>“And oh, she dreamed of great battles to prove herself worthy for knighthood. De la Valette was like a father to her and soon, the other guards in the knight's entourage became jealous. She noticed, but she was determined to ignore the men and stand her ground.”</p><p>Geralt could sense her growing distress, her anger and sadness. Just like a flower unfolding its petals in the twilight of the bedchamber.</p><p>“You don't need to tell me what happened”, he carefully pointed out, but only received a distorted smile. </p><p>“My story, my rules”, she scolded him gently and went on. “The minstrel spent his summers with the famous Witcher Geralt of Rivia, whom he considered his best friend. Every autumn his companion left for his secret Witcher hideout, so the bard would choose Toussaint to be his winter quarters. The girl and the minstrel met again, at taverns, at Duke Raymund's court in Beauclair, sometimes even at the border fortifications the bard visited to find material for his songs and poems. There were whispers he had an affair with nearly every noble woman in the duchy, but nobody could prove it, so it just contributed to his reputation to be a dyed-in-the-wool scoundrel.”</p><p>Anne gave Geralt a wink, but there was a deep sadness in her blank eyes.</p><p>“The young woman, however, feared for the minstrel's life, because she knew he was soft and kind, different to all men she had ever met. She was afraid he might get killed by a monster or a jealous spouses, so she always listened to all rumours on the streets, knowing that, one day, she would learn that her friend was gone. When she addressed her concerns, however, the poet just laughed at her. She couldn't understand why he would jeopardize his life for his dangerous adventures with a Witcher and all these elusive affairs with married women. A year ago, on the brink of war, they had a huge dispute. He accused her of being jealous and she told him that no matter how many women he would lay, he would always stay the insecure and lonely figure she had discovered him to be.”</p><p>Geralt's throat constricted and he stared into the fire, avoiding Anne's gaze. He knew exactly it would be filled with self -reproaches and he refused to face it. Her pain would bring his own remorse to light again and he felt too raw, to vulnerable to allow it at the moment.</p><p>“He ran off and she followed. Of course she did, because he was her friend. There was a bridge between the Beauclair Palace and the Gran'place-.”</p><p>Her voice trailed off and Geralt saw she was crying silently, wiping her face with her tunic's sleeve.</p><p>“Don't blame yourself”, he whispered hoarsely. Guilt stuck like lightning, bright and chocking. “It wasn't your fault. It was mine. He was my best friend and I hurt him. I didn't even try to make amends for my mistakes."</p><p>Anne suppressed a watery laugh.</p><p>“We are a fine pair of idiots, Geralt.”</p><p>“Indeed we are”, he hummed and cursed himself for not knowing the consoling words she probably needed. So he chose another way to express what he wanted to say. “It was very honourable that you tried to protect him from me. Now and then. The right thing to do. You would have made an exceptional knight.”</p><p>She cried harder and the Witcher sighed deeply. Another severe mistake, born out of his inability to deal with human emotions. He felt exhausted to the bone.</p><p>“I should leave”, he offered again, but Anne shook her head violently.</p><p>“It's just self-pity. It'll pass”, she mumbled and hugged her knees as tightly as possible. Tears streamed down her face and her lips quivered, but then defiantly went thin. “I am not done yet.”</p><p>“I'll listen, then”, Geralt reassured her and handed over one of his cushions so she could sit more comfortably. She let out another shaky breath, then she recommenced her story, not being able to keep up the estranging way of narration she had chosen before.</p><p>“I dragged him out of the water and brought him back to the tavern he was living in. We barely talked for days, still I stayed with him as long as I could. But De la Valette had been ordered to the border by the Duke and I had to follow him if I didn't want to loose my position as his right hand. I left Julian under the supervision of the innkeeper, Louise, a close friend of ours and returned eight weeks later, after Midwinter. Two things had changed. He had started to age, incredibly fast, and his lute and his lips were silenced. I quickly assumed these things were linked to each other. I mean, he always looked so young, but he was twice my age.”</p><p>The Witcher sat up and stared at her, his heart missing a beat. Then another. </p><p>“Then why didn't you -?” </p><p>“Why didn't I do <em>what</em>, Geralt?” She didn't react to the unconcealed accusation, just hung her head. “Get him drunk so that he would start singing again? Begging him on my knees to pick up his lute? I tried everything I could. Julian even said he had the same suspicion, but he just refused to do what I asked of him. He just stayed where he was, drinking in the tavern, staring at the ceiling, committing suicide again, this time very slowly.”</p><p>“I am sorry”, the Witcher declared sincerely. “I wasn't there, who am I to judge? - What should we do?”</p><p>“I don't know. I have run out of options”, Anne replied, stubbornness returned to her solemn face, replacing her sorrow. “But I just won't let him die. And I think you might be the key. That's why I asked you about your feelings for him. So please, Geralt. Please.” She leaned over, eyes and voice full of urgency. Her hand rested on her husband's shoulder, light as a feather. “I have no idea what love is, but I saw how you held him. The way you stared at his face, just as if it was the most precious thing you own in this world. If there's something you want to tell him, you should do that.”</p><p>It was the moment Geralt left.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Betrayal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: mention of past suicide attempts and ending a pregnancy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt had to admit he panicked. Twice within an hour. It left him angry and confused. His self-control was failing him and there was only way of dealing with it. He went to the stables. Icy air hit him when he left the palas, but at least there was no rain. Instead, a silvery crescent moon greeted him as he crossed the upper courtyard and passed the gate to enter the first fortification.</p><p>The castle guards had once again gathered around a fire bowl, rubbing their hands and muttering to each other. Their conversatios ebbed as they became aware of the Witcher's large figure passing by. Some younger men nodded awkwardly and old Quentin, who sat on a crooked bench and smoked his pipe, touched his plate helmet to greet Geralt silently.</p><p>The smell of burnt tobacco was soon replaced by the horses' clean scent. Pegasus, Winter and Roach dozed in their large boxes, the gelding had even laid down and his muscles twitched from time to time, but he didn't wake from his deep sleep. The animals had obviously accepted that Geralt wasn't any danger and the realisation allowed the Witcher to finally relax and breath easily.</p><p>A pile of clean straw invited him to sit down and rest at last. He stared at the ceiling and contemplate the things he had learned within the last hour. A wife who suggested he told her husband about his feelings for him? It had to be sort of a trap. Or a cruel joke. No woman in full possession of her sound mind would offer something like that without having any ulterior motives. Most humans despised same-sex relationships. And even if Anne hadn't referred to any sort of romantic or carnal feelings, she wanted something. Something he couldn't define yet, but he had felt her expectation lingering over him like a sword waiting to strike down and cut him half.</p><p>And Jaskier – had stopped to make music last winter and had gained what looked like about twenty years of lifetime? But how? The bard didn't possess any form of inherent magic that could have caused his rapid demise. However, there had to be a kind of magical influence. True, Geralt could ride to the next city, search for a decent sorcerer and drag him to Lettehove castle to find out what had caused Jaskier's ageing. But maybe it was the wrong approach. </p><p>Anne had told him that Jaskier had suspicions about what had happened to him and refused to change anything about his slow and painful decay. The woman had suggested that Geralt admitted his feelings to penetrate the bard's wall of denial to save him.</p><p>Saving Jaskier's life, well, Geralt would do everything he could. He just needed to make Jaskier talk and maybe, he would learn about a way to nurse his friend back to full health. But tell him that he loved him? He wasn't sure that would work. Because if Jaskier didn't reciprocate his feelings, he would be horrified, maybe disgusted. Sure, the bard was an open person and had never condemned relationships who weren't commonplace. But the Witcher wasn't willing to take the risk. The last thing Geralt wanted to face was another loved one turning away from him because of his odious nature.</p><p>If Anne's proposed solution was serious after all, the idea had certainly been born out of her strange and idealised idea of knighthood and true romance.  The woman's wit had been compromised by her personal situation, carrying the burden of a suicidal husband and friend, unable to find a cure for the bard's melancholy. Her idea of Geralt being the last straw for Jaskier's mental health was desperate and silly.</p><p>Maybe it would be sufficient to remind the Viscount of their friendship and offer him another perspective for the future.</p><p>Maybe he could take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen and introduce him to Ciri? But no, that was impossible. There was a child to be born in spring and the bard had prepared everything to ensure the child would have a home, a title and probably enough money to live a safe and happy life. He wouldn't leave voluntarily.</p><p>Geralt groaned and plucked straw out of his hair. There had to be another, perfectly reasonable solution for the whole mess. One that didn't include his heart potentially being broken again. He could live with not telling Jaskier anything about his feelings, but he certainly wouldn't risk to be rejected. Yennefer's refusal of what he had to offer had turned his life into a clusterfuck he hadn't recovered from by now.</p><p>For a second he thought about the possibility that Jaskier loved him back and smiled sadly. As Jaskier loved everything and everybody who offered him the smallest amount of kindness, Geralt knew he shouldn't misinterpret all the little moments of closeness they had shared during the last twenty years. How could somebody who was human persistently love a thing that broke everything while barely touching it? </p><p>He stayed until the first birds of the morning began to sing and then headed back to the family quarters in the palas. The inner turmoil had eased into a small spot of soreness successfully caged under his ribs and so he followed his first instinct and dared to return to Jaskier's bedchamber. The two humans slept, Anne curled up around a cushion at Jaskier's side, her hair tousled. She hadn't slipped under her husband's blanket and looked frozen solid. The fire had collapsed, so Geralt went to his room and brought his own bedclothes to cover the woman with it. She stirred, but didn't wake. Carefully slinking through the room, the Witcher knelt down at the hearth and soon, the fire started again.<br/>
The dry heat felt good and he lowered his head, allowing his body to bathe in the cleansing sensation and drop into meditation. The least he could do after his inglorious flight from the room was staying and watching over the couple's sleep.</p><p>Jaskier was the first to open his eyes and as soon as he sat up, Geralt turned his head.</p><p>“Good morning”, he whispered and met the bard's foggy eyes. How many times had they shared this ritual, Geralt being wide awake and the bard looking like he was involuntarily hosting a dead ferret in his skull? It was so familiar, but this time, it also felt oddly intimate. “How are you?”</p><p>The question needed a moment to sink in, so Jaskier just blinked and tried to orientate himself in the room. As soon he saw his wife, he expression changed into something soft and remorseful. He tucked her in carefully and tried to slide out off the bed causing as little movements as possible.</p><p>“Shouldn't wake her”, he murmured and gestured at Geralt. “Where are my clothes?”</p><p>“I don't think -.” The gesturing continued and the Witcher sighed, raising gracefully to his feet. “Fine. Wait.”</p><p>Jaskier just wore his braies and shuddered as his feet touched the ground. Geralt searched the room and finally found the Viscount's belongings in the travel chest. Gone were the gaudy silks and transparent shirts, the velvet ribbons and nacre buttons. The Viscount's wardrobe was made of fine wool and linen, practical, warm clothing for a person who couldn't stand the cold of the world any more. Still, the doublets and trousers were mostly blue or purple, colours that would make Jaskier's eyes stand out. So he still was a vain man and this little realisation made Geralt feel a little bit better. </p><p>The Witcher stood by, ready to catch his friend if he would collapse again, but the Viscount dressed without any problems. His gaze was steady and awake now, the dizziness gone. Slowly, he unwrapped the bandage and tossed it away with a disgusted face. His fingertips touched the tiny stitches closing the head wound and he quickly rearranged his hair so they wouldn't be seen.</p><p>“Slept enough”, he declared and avoided Geralt's disapproving frown as he slowly walked out of the bedchamber. There even was a cheerful note in his voice, but it sounded metallic and hollow. “Come on, I know I'm a burden.”</p><p>The Witcher cursed and followed him. If he understood the social cues right, this clearly wasn't the perfect premise for a conversation about Jaskier's condition. But maybe there wouldn't be another opportunity, so he just needed to overcome his fear of triggering another disaster.</p><p>“You are no burden, Jaskier. I mistook you for one, but it's not true.”</p><p>They had reached the great hall and the bard nearly tripped over the elevated platform that separated the high table from the rest of the room as he heard Geralt's silent words. Jaskier just rolled his eyes in disbelief and went on.</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. - Do you plan on following me to the outhouse, Geralt? You could, if you're really into some serious weightlifting? No? Thought so.”</p><p>The Witcher stopped dead on the top of the stairs and wished that the dirty joke didn't resonate in a section of his body that he very much needed to stay unimpressed. The deerhounds rose from their place at the central hearth and pressed into his legs, eyeing him pleadingly. </p><p>“Fine. Everybody out for release”, he rumbled and finally went downstairs as well, opening the door for the dogs who shot out with desperate speed. “At least you don't jest about it.”</p><p>There was a reason he preferred animals to humans. The morning was as cold and crisp as the night before. Geralt decided to mount the stairs of the battlements, a position that would be perfect to overview the whole courtyard and make sure that he would see the slim form of the Viscount as soon as he returned to the palas. Life at Lettehoven castle woke again and the Witcher could smell freshly baked bread and the blacksmith's fire at Marcus's little workshop in the lower courtyard. The bailiff emerged from the kitchen door, talking to Cook in a demanding tone. The bulky woman looked like she was ready to bite the man's head off any minute, but nodded obediently. Geralt knew she would do exactly what she wanted the minute Quentin turned his back on her.</p><p>Jaskier reappeared from the part of the outbuildings where the bathhouse and latrines had been built decades ago and tiled his head back so he could look up the Witcher who leaned on the battlement's railing.</p><p>“Are you controlling me?”, he asked, hand in his hips, voice tired and strained. “I washed my hands.”</p><p>“Do I need to control you, Jaskier?” Geralt responded in a low tone, knowing the true meaning of his words would only be noticed but his friend. The Viscount threw his hands up and sighed frustratedly. He slowly climbed the stairs and joined Geralt without any further comment. The Witcher wasn't sure if Jaskier realized that Geralt's hand lingered over the bard's back in case he needed support. </p><p>They went for a morning walk on the murals of the upper courtyard and didn't speak until they found themselves on one of the fortified towers that offered a perfect view over the viridescent grey ocean. The wind was filled with the smell of salt and the different species of algae that Geralt could spot on the beaches. Dirty sails billowed on the choppy surface of the sea, as the fisherman from the near village had begun their daily work.</p><p>“I promise I will behave now”, the Viscount mumbled. His hands rested on the rough surface of the wall, fingernails scratching over the stone lightly. The feeling of shame reemerged again, a hot and burning sensation Geralt hated. “Promised it before, though, to Anne. Seems like I failed her again. I am a disgrace.”</p><p>“I know about the bridge”, Geralt stated and felt he should drag Jaskier's hands away from the cold wall. But he didn't. “She told me about it. She apologized for not telling me earlier.”</p><p>The Viscount groaned and shook his weary head. </p><p>“Poor woman. That's just like her, taking over the responsibility to cover my faults. She deserves so much more. I am such an idiot, thinking this bargain, this marriage would help her overcoming what I did to her.”</p><p>Geralt didn't understand what his friend was talking about, but he could feel a cold numbness creeping through his stomach.</p><p>“A bargain?”, the Witcher echoed, dumbstruck. “ Your marriage? How?”</p><p>Jaskier's response came out in a muffled blur, he hadn't even heard what Geralt had been asking.</p><p>“She's hurt and pregnant and lost the life she had always dreamt of and it was my fault. Instead of listening what she wanted, I dragged her here to make things up to her the way I felt to be right. And she, poor soul, allowed me to cage her. Geralt, I can see the despair in her eyes. Oh, I can live with her hating me. But she despises herself and the child. She tries to get rid of it, even if she wouldn't admit it, so there's no reason for us to stay together like this. She blames herself for what happened and I just couldn't stand it anymore. I don't know why I went to the keep. Maybe, I thought – it was the right thing to set her free.”</p><p>Geralt finally let his hand rest between Jaskier's shoulder blades, feeling the warmth of the trembling body under the layers of the woollen doublet.</p><p>“I thing you underestimate your wife”, the Witcher muttered, voice low and gravely. He had always used this special tone to console Ciri when she woke up after a terrible nightmare of everything around her dissolving into fire and smokes. “She is wise and never afraid of expressing what she wants and how she feels. There is no hate in her heart, Jaskier.  Just sadness and fear. She's very fond of you. And whatever has happened, you offered your name and the security of this castle to keep her safe now, even though you hated this place for all your life and never wanted to return and fight the fight with your family. That was honourable and kind. And that's what she sees in you.”</p><p>“You don't know what I did, Geralt.” Jaskier's voice was nearly inaudible. “I am not kind at all.”</p><p>“What did you do?”</p><p>“I sold her off to Sigismund Dijkstra .”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. A drop of rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was hard to write, oof. Lots of feelings and realisations. I hope you like it. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You did – what?” Geralt roared and suppressed the impulse to shake the truth out of the minstrel's frail body. His hands clenched into fists before even realising it would look menacing. “Sigismund Dijkstra?”</p><p>The head of the Redanian Intelligence was a legend. Few man had met him in person, fewer – none, actually – would report openly about the outcome of these encounters. And now Jaskier talked about the ultimate power behind the throne of Redania like he was sort of an old acquaintance. Geralt blinked and tried to figure out what the slight twitching of Jaskier's jaw musculature meant. As he understood, his fists unclenched. </p><p>“How long have you been working for him?”, the Witcher inquired gruffly. The bard avoided direct eye contact and crossed his arms, shoulders tensed, as if he waited for an inevitable blow.  Second later, a jolt ripped through his body and his eyes met Geralt's again, suddenly ablaze with fury.</p><p>“It's not like this was sort of a consensual cooperation, Geralt. He had been trying to blackmail me for years. Most of the time, I could reject his pursuit because I was able to come to amicable settlements with the other parties involved.” He shivered and rubbed his upper arms. “You know, I've always been good at talking myself out of the shit I manoeuvred myself into.”</p><p>“But not this time.”</p><p>“No, not this time.” The rueful confession was nothing but a mere whisper. “Anne left me at a lovely inn named 'Chez Louise' a week after my – after that bad decision. Her knight, Henri-Jean de la Valette, had been ordered to the borders to put down a rebellion of loggers. She made sure I had everything I needed. Coin, shelter, company and a healer checking on me regularly. I should have accepted her generosity, but I just couldn't.”</p><p>“So this was about money?”, Geralt rasped and shook his head disbelievingly. He knew he was missing something, but couldn't figure out what it was. </p><p>“Never.” Jaskier flinched. “It was about not overextending our friendship. I was a total wreck, then. She said she still wanted me around, but well, I think you know about her ideas of chivalrous virtues, compassion and sense of honour.” He waved his hand dismissively. “She was a child. A naïve child with a heart too big for this world. I felt I was exploiting her. And -.” He coughed and his head fell. “It's always better to leave on your own terms, you know? Before you find out the other person's affection has turned into hate. Then you can at least tell yourself  you have a bit of control over your life.”</p><p>Geralt' steadied himself by grabbing a pinnacle. Jaskier's words felt like a stab to his abdomen, a burning sensation of guilt and disbelief. He had brought this upon in friend. And now his poor life choices had led to the ruin of another gentle soul. He gritted his teeth and felt the look in his eyes gave him away. He wanted to tell Jaskier he was sorry, but he had done it before and the bard had rejected his plea for forgiveness.</p><p>He thought of the beautiful brooch that adorned his swordhilt. The blacksmith who had forged it into the cold steel had been curious about the piece of jewellery, but Geralt had only revealed that he held it as a special remembrance. A reminder that getting involved with humans would only lead to their inevitable suffering. Renfri's death had been a  valuable lesson he wouldn't forget until his last day on earth.</p><p>“Geralt?” Jaskier's anxious voice finally reached his conscious mind. “I am sorry. I never intended to hurt you. This is not about you and me.”</p><p>“Really?”, the Witcher answered slowly, his mind racing as well as his heart. Had they ever talked this bluntly? He couldn't remember. “Forgive me, but the parallels are – quite obvious.”</p><p>“No! At least – not entirely. See, I could have stayed with you after that scene at King Niedamir's mountains. It was my choice to leave you and I won't allow you to blame yourself for my decisions. Because they were mine, Geralt. Mine only. I am my own person, as a result of how I was brought up and what I allowed myself to become as a man. Yes, it hurt. But I allowed you to hurt me. I put so much trust in you, clearly aware of the fact that, maybe, our friendship was more a mortal could possibly bear. I know who you are, remember? I learnt it over the course of twenty endless summers. Still, you are my best friend. Running in open eyed and with my heart on my sleeves? That's me, dear. And I would gladly do it again.”</p><p>It were the most mature words Geralt had every heard from Jaskier and they hit him like a rock, because it was also the most devastating thing the bard had ever revealed. Bit by bit, the pieces of what Geralt knew about his friend fell into place. The hateful mother, the abuse at the cloister school, the disastrous and painful affairs and, in the end, their own unhealthy friendship, inequal from the beginning.</p><p>Jaskier was a man in need of <em>something</em>, of appreciation and acceptance. Love, maybe. The irony hurt. The minstrel had believed that, somehow, he would find these things while following a Witcher who was incapable of dealing with human emotions. He had trusted Geralt to give him what he desperately craved, considering him as something far better than a noble background, a teaching position at Oxenfurt or the sexual encounters with countless women. </p><p>It changed everything. And nothing at all, especially not the pain that constricted his chest.</p><p>“Geralt, please, could you – talk to me?” The bard's eyes were blown open, bitter and full of hope at the same time.</p><p>“I don't know what to say, Jaskier. Really. But I will stay and I will listen.” It was an honest offer, even though the Witcher felt overwhelmed by the complexity of what was happening between them these days. He hadn't recovered from living with and losing Yennefer, and now, he felt that his whole emotional world balanced on the edge of an abyss again. He loved the younger man, now more than ever, but he finally understood that Jaskier was just as broken as himself. Geralt simply didn't know if being together was the best choice for both of them. Someone had to be reasonable. It should be him.</p><p>Jaskier sighed and rubbed his arms again, leaning into the increasing sea wind.</p><p>“I don't want to be our relationship like this. I don't have time and strength for your oh so witchery pangs of remorse, especially when they're unnecessary. Cherished, yes. But please, don't let me live with the feeling that spending time with me is tainted. I would prefer to have you at my side voluntarily, not because you feel obliged to. And even if you can't stay for long, I need to know we will part as friends. Not as two people who are forced together by guilt.”</p><p>The Witcher cleared his throat, reminding himself that he had just decided he should be reasonable one. The simple word 'relationship' had ignited a flame in his soul, growing bigger with every moment they stood together, so unbearably close that their shoulders nearly touched. He knew he was overreacting, but the emotion filled every dark corner of his being, cradling him like he still was a child longing for warmth and appreciation.</p><p>He hated to fight it, but challenging monsters was his profession and he needed Jaskier to take up the battle with his inner demons. So he would take the lead, even if the bard would hate him for it.</p><p>“I suggest that you try your own medicine, then”, he advised gravely, folding his arms over his chest. It helped him to suppress the need to touch Jaskier's sunken face. “Because when we began this conversation, you made it clear that you are overwhelmed by your own guilt. Whatever you did to your wife – I don't think she wants you to feel miserable.” Another terribly presumption hit and Geralt felt his eyes narrowing. He tried to push back the thought with all might, but Witchers were suspicions creatures. He just hoped he wouldn't hurt his friend with his question. “You told her you gave her to Dijkstra?”</p><p>“Yes”, the Viscount breathed and bit his lip. “I told her everything. And she still forgave me, saying it wasn't my fault.”</p><p>Geralt hummed and couldn't help but lean in and brush his shoulder again Jaskier's very lightly. It could have been mistaken as a coincidence, but the bard rose his head and their eyes met. There was no fear, just a hint of curiosity that lit up Jaskier's features.</p><p>“Then I don't think she feels like you gave her away.” Geralt managed to produce a small smile. He knew too well how a twisted perspective could distort the truth and reality of life. “And honestly? I know you, too. Maybe your own thoughts and memories about what happened are betraying you, Jaskier. You should talk to Anne again. And this time, try to really listen to her.”</p><p>“You believe in me”, Jaskier whispered and there it was again, that shy smirk the Witcher had missed so deeply. Filled with disbelief and doubt, but still beautiful.</p><p>“Always did”, the Witcher said and it was the truth. He couldn't have spent two decades with a person whom he didn't believe in. Of course, many of Jaskier's decisions during this period had been wrong. Idiotic, sometimes. But they had been born out of a sincere soul. “Would you like to tell me, too? It's alright if you don't.”</p><p>Geralt knew he should have left it at suggesting his friend should talk to his wife. But a part of him wanted to know, no, silently prayed that his faith in Jaskier was justified. He needed to know that his instincts weren't misleading him.</p><p>“I want to”, the Viscount said and ran his hand over his neck, feeling exposed and insecure. “Alright, then. Anne had been gone for weeks last winter and I grew more and more restless. So I tried so make music, to write ballads and poems. But I failed miserably. The song inside was gone.” He sighed and for a second, there was a faint blush appearing on his face. “One night, I was terribly drunk and a man approached me. It was obvious Dijkstra had sent him, because he knew details about my life nobody else was aware of. He asked me to carry a letter from Beauclair to the Coronate vineyards. He whispered threats and promises and I couldn't but agree. I wanted to be of any use.”</p><p>“You were drunk”, Geralt repeated and cocked an eyebrow, trying to make things easier for his friend, as he recognised Jaskier's struggle to keep his narration as unemotional as possible.</p><p>“You know that's really a bad excuse, love?”, the bard snorted, but the smile returned and this time, the fine lines in the corners of his eyes deepened. “But yes, I was drunk. And I thought that Anne wouldn't return, because nobody would possibly want a broken bard.” He licked his lips. “I know, I should have trusted her. But I refused myself that vague hope because I felt I didn't deserve it.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“Yes, indeed. Very helpful, Geralt, thank you.” Jaskier frowned. “That man had quite an effective lever he could use against me. He even brought parts of it as proof. A letter exchange between me and certain person. A powerful person that would have been ruined if these letters would be revealed. This time, I couldn't refuse. So I went to the vineyard, met my contact and I thought it was over. But it wasn't.”</p><p>The Witcher felt a growl building in his throat. He would break Dijkstra's neck. Or maybe his kneecaps first, right before snapping the man's neck. How he wished he had been there last winter. If he had accompanied Jaskier to the coast, none of this would have happened. And as he now knew destiny was a fickle lover, he would have found Ciri anyway, maybe even before the fall of Cintra. An event that still tormented the poor girl in her dreams. </p><p>So many wasted opportunities. So much regret.</p><p>“Blackmail never ends”, he grumbled and the bard shrunk visibly, his shoulders tense and shaking in the cold.</p><p>“I know”, Jaskier rasped hoarsely. “The following months, I delivered several letters and received enough money to make a living. Anne returned after Midwinter Eve and was relieved to see me again. I felt ashamed I have doubted her good intentions. She noticed I had money, so I told her I was whoring around and having wiling ladies filled my purse with enough coin.”</p><p>“Another broken nose would have been justified, I think”, Geralt said dryly. </p><p>“Indeed”, Jaskier agreed gravely. “During the spring months I often wished she would just beat the shit out of me, because I had decided to act as repellently as possible. I didn't want her to notice what I was doing, so I invented more and more stories about lovers, just to keep her safe. It worked out just fine and she spent time with her comrades and at De la Valette's side, working hard on her sword fighting and her education. I observed it from a distance and I was so proud of her success. What a wonderful knight she would have been.”</p><p>“Told her that last night”, Geralt confessed and felt terribly when he remembered Anne's desperate tears. “She cried her eyes out. I am really sorry.”</p><p>The bard's slim fingers covered the Witcher's hand, just a light touch, but it lingered and Geralt could feel the warmth of Jaskier's fingertips on his knuckles.</p><p>“I know you meant it to be a compliment. You have seen a lot of knights during the last century, Geralt. You wouldn't lie about it. I will let her know”, the Viscount promised fondly. “She will understand.”</p><p>“She is an exceptional woman”, Geralt admitted and accepted the surge of jealousy that rose and fell, just like the tide playing with the rough cliffs of Lettehove castle. “And I still don't see how you gave her away, Jaskier.”</p><p>The bard's face fell again and the Witcher knew he had put to much pressure on his friend as Jaskier paled and staggered as he tried to back off. Geralt immediately joined up and this time, he allowed his hand to rest between the bard's shoulder blades, steady and secure.</p><p>“Let's move inside”, he suggested and pointed toward the ever changing shapes of the grey clouds above their heads. “You should rest and eat. And see Anne.”</p><p>“Hm”, Jaskier responded, but his nod was hesitant. His gaze trailed the distant horizon dividing the ocean and the sky. Rain fell there, a light curtain of transparent grey, still far away, illuminated by silver rays of light.</p><p> “What do you think, Geralt?”, he asked silently. “I have been wondering about the value of life lately. Does the endless sea even care about a single drop of rain?”</p><p>“I don't know”, the Witcher answered and his hand cupped Jaskier's shoulder. “But I will mean the world to a man dying of thirst.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Your legacy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh my, I cried while writing this. :( Hope you will like it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Touching Jaskier needed to stop. Geralts fingertips still felt unusually warm when they returned to the palas and he rubbed them over the rough fabric of the borrowed tunic he was wearing to replace one sensation with another. The movement reminded him that he still had stitches that covered his chest and his neck and that they needed to come out before finally growing in. He didn't mind that at all, but he knew that someone might notice. Maybe Vesemir or his Witcher sibling Eskel and these two had made it quite clear over the years that they didn't approve his lack of selfcare. It would lead into never ending discussions Geralt simply wanted to avoid.</p><p>The deerhounds were eager to join the men and vied with another for the humans' attention, barking and pressing against their legs. They tumbled into the great hall and circled the central hearth before running over to the high table, where Anne sat on her chair and greeted the animals with affectionate pats.</p><p>“Good morning”, her voice rang out and she gestured at the table bending under a variety of food the servants had brought. Fried fish, ham and cheese, bread and butter. There were even some preserved fruits and a jug of thinned wine. The Viscountess looked less tired than the day before, but there was a restlessness in her moves that Geralt immediately read as worry.</p><p> “I didn't know if you'd already eaten, so I ordered some more. Violet just told me you were outside for a walk.”</p><p>Jaskier winced contritely and sat down next to his wife, taking his position at the largest of the three chairs. His hand touched Anne's sleeve apologetically and she forced a smile. It stroke Geralt odd that his friend hadn't had a problem with holding his hand some minutes ago, but refused to make skin contact with the woman he had married. Maybe it was Jaskier's guilty conscience that led him. </p><p>“I should have left a message. I am sorry, dear heart. It seems I need to change my usual behaviour of doing what I want without asking for permission”, Jaskier responded, trying for a appeasing tone, but failing miserably. It was obviously the worst thing to say, Geralt noted, as he also sat down and spotted the hurt look on Anne's face.</p><p>“You don't need to ask me for <em>permission</em>, Julian. But I was worried that you -.” Her tone was shrill and she immediately sank back against the backrest of her chair and groaned, displeased with her own emotional reaction. “Never mind”, she said in a more steady voice. “I was just worried.”</p><p>Geralt could imagine how she had felt, waking in a room with her husband, who had tried to take his life twice, gone without notice. With Geralt, who hadn't even thought about how it would look like to her. All his thoughts had circled around Jaskier, depriving him of his clear thinking. The Witcher felt ashamed and gritted his teeth.</p><p>“I am sorry”, he apologized coarsely and two pairs of startled eyes set on him, one moss green, one brilliant blue. Anne stifled a laugh, but it was bitter and strained.</p><p>“Alright, even the Witcher's sorry”, she snapped and stood. The deerhounds who had settled at her feet jumped up,  their peaceful slumber disturbed by the sudden movement. “Holy Melitele, save me from all this -.”</p><p>The Viscountess threw her hands in the air and left with an angry swirl of her coat, heading for the great hall's entrance. She didn't look back. The dogs followed her cautiously, whining in distraught.</p><p>Jaskier got up as well, but froze halfway, then sank back into his chair again. The men looked at each other helplessly. It might had been an almost comical moment, but Geralt didn't feel like laughing at all, seeing Jaskier's face dropping.  </p><p>“So you say she doesn't hate me?”, the Viscount muttered, staring at all the food on display before his eyes with open disgust. The abundance seemed to remind him that this was a place that could offer anything a man would want but held nothing Jaskier would ever need. Never had. Never would.</p><p>“No”, Geralt said sharply. “She just hates her emotions and her helplessness.”</p><p>“How will you know?”, Jaskier asked with a thin voice and buried his face in his hands. The Witcher let out a long, silent breath. He knew it too well, still recalling the whirlwind of feelings the separation from Yennefer had thrown him into every single day of his life since the events on that mountainside. Admitting it in front of his friend seemed impossible. He was relieved beyond compare that Jaskier looked up again in a start, but his heart sank again at the minstrels word's. “Oh. Of course you know. I am a fool. Please forgive me, again. You are still grieving and I knew no better than reminding you of it. Second time in a few days.” He chuckled miserably. “Well, this time you could really assume it's sort of a revenge. Normally my memory isn't so grotty at all.”</p><p>Geralt pressed his lips and poured himself some thinned wine, gulping down the first mug without hesitation.</p><p>“I believed you the first time it wasn't meant as a revenge.” He cleared his throat. Talking about Yennefer felt like spitting out pieces of broken glass and no alcohol in the world would change it, but he told himself the wine could cut the edges of his torment. “And I believe you now. But I thought you didn't like her, Jaskier. Why the urge to talk about Yennefer?”</p><p>The air in the great hall was thick with tension and the Witcher could see that his friend swallowed hard. Jaskier inhaled and one if his hands clenched into a fist on the armrest of his chair. His eyes wandered across the great hall, the fireplace in the middle, the painted walls and the colorful tapestries. A servant peeked from behind the screens passage but retreated immediately, very aware of the fact that he was disturbing.</p><p>“The word of the Battle of the Fourteen reached Toussaint as well, you know. And I cried, Geralt.” Jaskier's finger began to fiddle on the carvings of the armrest, tracing the outlines of a mythological creature with two heads. “I admired her as much as I detested her.”</p><p>“I didn't know”, the Witcher murmured and took another huge sip of wine. It was easier to get drunk than stand the torn expression in his friend's eyes. Jaskier barked a rough laugh.</p><p>“She always knew that she wanted. Everything she lay these darn beautiful eyes on was to be hers and nobody could resist her. She had everything. That god damned manor, the political and magical power, and – you.” </p><p>Geralt's breath hitched and the noise of his mug hitting the table was far too loud.</p><p>“I feel like a monster now”, Jaskier breathed and shook his head. “I was so bloody relieved to hear she was dead. And I loathed myself, because I knew you would be devastated when you found out she was gone. But it felt so good to be sure that she would never again turn her back on you after a night of lovemaking, leaving you in despair for days. That she would never cheat on you again. That she would never again ignore your feelings, your frantic attempts to give her what she wanted. And, yeah, I really hated her for getting everything I couldn't get in twenty years of friendship. Trust, love, dedication.”</p><p>“Jaskier”, Geralt growled, unsure if he would allow himself to hope that his friend's words really meant what they suggested. But even if they <em>meant</em> something – it was too late. The Witcher respected Anne de Lettehove and he wouldn't dare to hurt her by succumbing to his selfish wishes. His longing for the bard needed to stop or it would rip him apart. But how? Even Jaskier's rude words about Yennefer couldn't make him love the bard less. “Stop it! It wasn't her fault that she and I collided and were driven apart again and again. It was magic that brought us together and divided us. The fucking djinn's malice!”</p><p>As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew they were genuine. They also meant that his world was turning upside down again with a force that left him stunned and speechless. All these years had had tried to convince himself that his love for Yenn had been more that a djinn's spell could ever evoke. It had allowed him to keep up the illusion that not every aspect of his life was controlled by an invisible force beyond his control. He hadn't returned to the collapsing mayor's house in Rinde because he had fallen in love with Yennefer on first sight. But because she had saved Jaskier's life and without the bard, his own existence would have been void and insignificant.</p><p>The Viscount said nothing at first. His body shrunk against the backrest of his seat, looking as if he longed to be wiped from the face of the earth.</p><p>“So, do you still have some kind words for me, Geralt?”, he then rasped, pinching the bridge of his nose.  The Witcher closed his eyes. Hollowness built up in his soul, as he finally made his decision. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to say to finally separate their bond that had been growing again over the last days.</p><p>“Yenn didn't have everything. She wanted a child and there was no magic in this world that would grant her the deepest wish she had.”</p><p>Jaskier inhaled sharply and his gaze focused on Geralt again. Bewilderment flickered across his face.</p><p>“What? I never thought -.” His lips moved in the shock of realisation, but it took a while before he could speak audibly again. “Sorceresses are barren.”</p><p>“Just like Witchers, yes.” Geralt's face contorted, he couldn't help it. “She longed for a legacy, something that would give meaning and structures to her life. To be honest, I wanted to be a father when I was younger, but abandoned the thought after finding out what this world was like.” He remembered how determined he had been to overcome the limitations a Witcher's life meant. And when he had finally been offered the opportunity, he had run like a coward. Geralt thought about Ciri's sweet face and knew he needed to return to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible. “Yennefer went on that dragon hunt because she wanted the creature's scales for a potion to restore her womb. We had a nasty fight because I told her she wasn't the motherly type. Cruel and stupid as I am, I even told her about having a Child of Surprise, but not allowing it to become part of my life. Yenn pushed me into getting a grip on myself and accept my fate.”</p><p>He had never told anyone about this part of his life because he had always feared he couldn't do it without breaking. But now, as he finally allowed himself to trust somebody with his hurt and his mistakes, it was almost a relief.</p><p>“Poor woman.” The bard's soft murmur was full of compassion, not only for Yennefer, but also for Geralt. The Witcher could read it in Jaskier's eyes, a warm pool of deepest blue Geralt wished he could dive into and never surface again. “That must have been awful for both of you.”</p><p>“I couldn't make things up to her, couldn't apologize, because she left me and we never met again before her death. I tell myself that searching for Ciri, taking over the responsibility I had always shied away from, would have pleased her”, Geralt admitted with a slight upward quirk to his lips. “She always liked when I did what she wanted me to do.”</p><p>The Viscount sighed and bit his lip, crushed under the strain of the open conversation the should have had years ago. He slowly shook his head, like a sleeper waking from a nightmare and finding himself in the same despair he had hoped to leave behind.</p><p>“Thank you for sharing, Geralt. But is this – sort of an advice?” Jaskier blinked and hesitated, clearly wanting to add something, but then his mouth fell shut.</p><p>“You have a family. A wife and child. I can see that you don't care that it's not yours. You will cherish it, because your heart is full of love. Always has been. You even spent your love on a Witcher, knowing he wouldn't return it. I am sure you can pass it on to your son or daughter. I know you feel that your life has lost its meaning, Jaskier. That is why I told you about Yennefer and Ciri. Sometimes, salvation can be found in our legacy. Think about it. That's all I ask of you.”</p><p>Jaskier's face went ashen grey and his eyes grew wide and hollow. The impact of Geralt's word struck him like a blow and he swayed in his seat.</p><p>“I will think about it, yes. All of it”, he murmured and hid his face in his hands again.  Geralt could smell the salty scent of tears and fought hard against his desire to lean over and pull his friend into a tight embrace. But he knew he was right. Jaskier needed a family, a place to rest his weary head, giving him an actual purpose of existence. Something that was steady and reliable, fulfilling. Something a life on the Path would never be.  “Please leave.”</p><p>Geralt left.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. The Blessing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His adamant self control led Geralt through the rest of the day. Kiennan the healer and his daughter came to see the Viscount and his wife and after they had met and learned that both were fine, the Witcher asked Kiennan to remove the stitches that still were scattered on his body.</p><p>So they went to Geralt's room and Kiennan asked Violet to provide them with a bowl of warm water and clean linen. He also made her light the fireplace and at first, Geralt strongly objected.</p><p>“I am a Witcher”, he told the young maid and the villager as he stripped off his tunic and sat down on the chair in front of the hearth. Violet blushed adorably and left the chamber, reeking of arousal, a clear and flowery scent Geralt liked. The combination of her lack of fear and her sexual interest in him made it difficult for him not react to her as his body demanded. “I don't need warmth.”</p><p>Kiennen chuckled and rubbed his hands, still icy and red from the travel to the castle. I had been raining since the unfortunate scene during breakfast and the temperature had dropped significantly, making Geralt think about how long the pass leading to Kaer Morhen would be passable this year.</p><p>“Maybe you don't, Master Witcher. But I do”, he chided good naturedly and winked as he saw that the Witcher was taken aback. “And it feels good, even for a Witcher – or am I mistaken?”</p><p>“No, it's nice.” Geralt shrugged and didn't understand where this conversation was headed. Kiennan patted his biceps and began to unpack his medical supplies, waiting for Violet to return. When the blonde entered the chamber once again, she brought what Kiennan had demanded. Another maid had joined her, carrying Geralt's clothes, folded and mended, smelling of lavender and the oily ingredients of soap that had been used washing. As soon as she had set the bundle on the bed, she fled the room shyly, not even daring to look at the half naked Witcher.</p><p>Violet smirked and Geralt couldn't but return her smile. Kiennan coughed slightly and shook his head.</p><p>“Ah, all you young ones, heads full of romance”, he hummed and the Witcher quirked a brow, but didn't feel offended at all. He liked the other man's dry humour. “As you're already here, Violet, you can as well stay and learn a bit about wound care. I have a feeling you might need it, suddenly having a fighting Lady in the castle now.”</p><p>Violet nodded excitedly and took her place on the other side of the chair, glancing down at Geralt's chest with double interest.</p><p>“I am sure I am older than you, Kiennan”, the Witcher rasped and received a chuckle. The healer's cool hand began to trace the sutures on his ribs and abdomen.</p><p>“But you appear to be younger than me, Master Geralt. And I assure you, women never look at me like young Violet here looks at you – as if she had been presented a warm and very tasty tartlet.” Violet laughed out in joy and mock outrage. Meanwhile the healer clicked his tongue in compassion, changing the subject instantly as his professional interest awoke. “You got impaled by something? How long ago?”</p><p>“Eight days ago. It was a monster with a spiky tail”, the Witcher explained and looked down. “Anne, I mean, the Viscountess stitched me up.”</p><p>“Humans don't heal as fast as his kind”, the healer explained to Violet who listened closely, still grinning. “These were deep wounds and a normal person would need to keep the stitches for at least ten days. But well, a Witcher is stronger and more resilient than a human, so these need to come off.”</p><p>He grabbed a scalpel and his tweezers and began to work, silently explaining what he was doing, so the young maid would understand. As some of the dark sutures had already grown in deeply, Kiennan needed to reopen the skin several times with precise cuts and Violet blanched, but refused to leave her post, cleaning the drops of blood that ran down Geralt's chest. She was a quick learner and eager to please. As Kiennan turned to the stitches at the Witcher's neck, the woman had already prepared a fresh compress and when the last suture came out, she started ripping the linen to turn it into bandages.</p><p>“I don't thing I'll need these”, Geralt gently reminded the healer. “The wounds will heal within a few hours.”</p><p>Kiennan snorted and washed his hands in the basin, drying them on a towel Violet gave him.</p><p>“You already said you didn't needed a fire – but you enjoyed it anyway. So I will dress these wounds. Master Witcher, sometimes it's alright to accept help, even if you feel they might be unnecessary.”</p><p>Geralt hummed and rose his arms, allowing the other man to cover the dozens of small cuts with the linen bandages. Meanwhile, Kiennan packed his bag again and explained his instruments to the maid, instructing her to join him and his daughter in the fishing village if she wanted to learn more.</p><p>“So, the Viscountess made these stitches? I am really impressed." The healer took the threads up again and tilted his head in curiosity. “The old Lord would have loved to have her as his daughter in law, I think.”</p><p>“Was he a man of war?”, Geralt asked and rose, checking if the bandages didn't impede his movements. Of course they didn't, as Kiennan was an experienced healer. The Witcher turned to the bed and found Violet presenting him one of his tunics.</p><p>“Every Viscount in the history of Lettehove was, because it's a rough land. There had always been bloody feuds that required the Lord's attention. But Lord Alfred was more than that.” Kiennan smiled fondly and closed his bag, hanging it over his shoulder. “He was fond of intriguing personalities. He loved hunting, music and fine wine, always being surrounded by bards and actors, novelists and painters. No wonder his eldest son turned out to be a minstrel. Lord Albert died when Lord Julian was a young lad and the old Viscountess locked him away in that school for years, only allowing him home once a year for his father's commemoration ceremonies.”</p><p>“And after all this time, you folk decided to welcome Jask – Lord Julian with arms wide open? Who is a minstrel and clearly no man of war? Why this unbroken loyalty to a mere stranger?” Geralt slid into his old tunic and inhaled the fine scent. Skillfull fingers had reinforced the seams and the neckline and as he met Violet's gaze, he knew exactly it was her work.</p><p>Kiennan scratched his brow, unsure if it would be right to answer the Witcher's question.</p><p>“See, Master Witcher. Master Philipp, the younger brother, was no bad man. But he always did what his mother told him and she was, well, a hard woman. Sure, we had nothing to complain about in general. Taxes were moderate, the soil fertile. But there had always been rumours. And -.”</p><p>The healer shifted on his feet uncomfortably and Geralt decided to leave him off the hook. Kiennan had helped him, he didn't deserve a hard interrogation.</p><p>“Thanks”, the Witcher said and retrieved some coin from his belt pocket, handing it over in a manner that made clear he wouldn't take the money back. “Here, for your service. May be enough for one of those books you and your daughter like.”</p><p>The healer beamed and didn't object to being paid generously. He waved his goodbyes and closed the door behind him, leaving Geralt and Violet alone. The maid blushed and nibbled at her lower lip.</p><p>“So, you need anything?”, she asked slowly, but this time, there was only the lightest flirty tone in her voice. It seemed that his words about a “special someone” were bearing fruit. Geralt felt equally relieved and disappointed. Sleeping with the beautiful woman would have helped to put his mind at ease for a while. And to forget about Jaskier.</p><p>But his feelings had been betraying him for years, he now wasn't sure how his body would react. He had always thought that was attracted to women only and was shocked every time he felt the tingling in his groin whenever he touched the bard these days. The primal force of his desire filled him with shame and he didn't know why.</p><p>“I would like to hear about those rumours”, he grumbled and leaned on the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest. Violet sneaked closer but sighed as she tilted her head back and only found friendly interest in Geralt's eyes. Out of a sudden impulse, she came up on her toes and kissed the cleft on his chin. “You are really a fine man. Pity you're taken.” She stepped away and sat down on his bed cross-legged, smiling ruefully, but charmingly. “Please don't hate me for trying.”</p><p>“I won't”, Geralt admitted and warmth flooded his veins. Years ago, these simple words wouldn't have touched him, but Jaskier had taught him how to cherish the rare affection he would find on the Path. “There are few people who dare to be close to a Witcher without smelling of fear and disgust.”</p><p>Violet waved it off.</p><p>“I can make up my own mind, you know? Gran told me she met a Witcher when she was a young girl. He saved her from Nekkers. I wouldn't be here without your kind. And we have heard Lord Julian's songs.” She shrugged. “Call me naïve if you want to. I don't care. You saved our Lord, so we all owe you.”</p><p>“Hm”, Geralt said and the girl snickered in delight.</p><p>“Alright, I'll do the talking. You wanted to know about the rumours? Well, it was long before I was born, but most of the older folks know the story. Lord Alfred had been married to Lady Isabel for three years, but there was no heir in sight. It was an arranged marriage and they had hated each other from the start. She was the daughter of his worst enemy and the match had finally brought peace to the realm. Soon, the Lord was seeing Malena, a lovely woman from Wittehall, one of our villages. When Lady Isabell found out her rival was expecting a child, the lady was furious. Months later, Malena, who was heavily pregnant, disappeared from the castle, where the Lord had brought her to protect her. Alfred was devastated as he found her in the woods, hanging from a tree, neck broken. It was a miracle, but the child in her womb had survived the ordeal and the Lord cut it out from his mother's corpse with his own hands. Then he brought the boy home, proclaiming him his heir.”</p><p>The Witcher frowned at this. He knew these kind of stories. Either Malena had hanged herself because she had been expecting a bastard or she had been killed. Violet's eyes were full of pity as she whispered:</p><p>“They say that Lady Isabel paid someone to kill Malena as she heard that her husband planned to accept the child in any case. I heared there were men's footprints under the tree where the body was found.”</p><p>“And the Lord decided to protect his wife to keep the peace, even though he suspected her to be the head of a murderous conspiracy”, Geralt summarized and shook his head in disgust. He knew that every rumour contained a grain of truth and the story the maid had narrated was way to detailed to be a mere whispering that villagers had invented to scare their children.</p><p>“Everybody adored the little child that escaped certain death, considering him to be a good omen. And having a good omen for a Viscount, well, that's nice, I think”, Violet ended and smiled again as she rose to her feet gracefully. “Sorry, Geralt, I need to leave now. My gran will shove a spoon up my butt when I'm late for dinner preparations.”</p><p>“I would never risk your health”, the Witcher smiled and opened the door for her, already lost in his thoughts. Had Jaskier been cursed at birth? Maybe 'curse' wasn't an adequate term for what Geralt assumed to have happened in the past. A child that had been able to survive his mother's death could have been gifted with a unusual strong vital force. And that, in turn, would perfectly explain why the bard had always looked surprisingly young. A real miracle, indeed, as Violet had said.</p><p>But Geralt knew that the world wasn't exactly a nice place. He didn't believe in the miracles and certainly not in the gods' benevolence. But he wasn't able to come up with another plausible theory. Neither did he know what had caused the accelerated speed of Jaskier's ageing. There was only one way to find out if his assumptions were correct. He needed to talk to his friend, as soon as possible.</p><p>He left his room and relied on his senses to find out where the Viscount was. Muffled voices drifted toward him from behind the bard's bedroom door and as Geralt raised his hand to knock, he could hear what they were saying. His hand stopped in mid air.</p><p>“Jules, I am so sorry”, Anne mumbled and she sounded deeply saddened. Fabric rustled and Geralt imagined the couple lying in bed together, their bodies intertwined, whispering to each other while their faces nearly touched, close enough to kiss or maybe exchange soothing caresses. Geralt's chest constricted at the imagination of marital intimacy, of Jaskier's body in another person's arms. A low growl emerged from his throat. “I could have sworn that he loved you back.”</p><p>Geralt blinked in shock. What kind of wife would openly ask her husband about his relation with his best friend? About their love?</p><p>“I told him.” That was Jaskier, confused and angry and without even realising what he was doing, the Witcher leaned forward, resting his forehead on the smooth surface of the door. “I told him I craved his love for all those years and he just – told me to concentrate on my legacy.”</p><p>Anne sighed, but there was a contemplative nuance in her voice that reminded Geralt she was indeed an intelligent woman. </p><p>“Well, that doesn't mean he doesn't love you”, she mused, clearly trying to cheer Jaskier up. “You told me he had these noble moods that made him disregard his own needs. Like giving his last money to orphans or saving a certain stray bard from the swamp, throwing himself between a monster's claws and said bard.”</p><p>“True.” The Viscount chuckled, but he didn't sound very hopeful. “But I don't have the strength to find it out. There's nothing left. I don't have time for this. I need to meet Dijkstra as soon as possible and get hold on the rest of these letters. Now it's also your reputation that's on stake and I won't take the risk.”</p><p>The Viscountess' voice was steady and determined.</p><p>“I don't care about these letters, Julian. Never have. And I don't think Dijkstra will use them, anyway. And even if he does - the scandal would be enormous, yes. But it won't endanger me or the child. Remember, it happened before we met. They will just regards me as the poor victim that married an abnormal scoundrel. There will by pity and gossip, but nothing more.”</p><p>A deep breath.</p><p>“Gods, I think I love you, Anne.”</p><p>“I love you too, Jules. And now – ouch.”</p><p>“Are you alright, my dear?” The Viscount's soft question was full of concern, while Anne sounded clearly surprised.</p><p>“The child – just kicked me, I think. That's a weird feeling.”</p><p>She laughed breathlessly and Geralt turned away from the door.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Silent touches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I wanted to write something soft and fluffy today, as most of the story was really dark and desperate. I hope you like it :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of  soft footsteps and a squeaking door disturbed Geralt's light meditation and he opened his eyes, finishing his mental journey and returning to the shadows of his quarters. The ambers in his hearth cracked softly. Rain poured down on the roof of the palas and it was late, after midnight. The castle had fallen asleep, but some of its inhabitants were still up.</p><p>The evening meal had been a quiet affair, with Jaskier and his wife talking about the plans for the coming days. The Viscountess had strictly refused to move into the womens' quarters and Jaskier had accepted it without any objections, just patting her hand and then holding it for a while, intertwining his fingers with hers. The harmony between the two humans had been reestablished after their morning dispure and Geralt was glad to see that his friend seemed to be at peace.</p><p>But looks could be deceiving and as Geralt rose to his feet after ending the meditation with another long breath, he knew it was Jaskier who roamed the corridors. The last nights had been rough for the Viscount and as the Witcher still feared for his friend's life, he slipped out of his chamber and followed the mild yellow light into the room Jaskier had entered.</p><p>The Viscount stood in the doorframe of the chamber, holding a chandelier and staring into the void. The Witcher cleared his throat, but it was too late and the bard jumped, clamping a hand over his racing heart.</p><p>“Geralt”, he breathed and turned his head slowly, like a sleepwalker who only had limited access to his body. “One day you'll be the death of me.”</p><p>“Jaskier”, the Witcher growled. He was amazed how deep the thoughtless words hit. Maybe they weren't thoughtless at all, he mused and felt his teeth grinding far too violently. The nasty sound made the Viscount blink, realising his lapse. But before Jaskier could throw himself into a elaborated apology that Geralt would find to be hard to accept, the Witcher said: “This was your brother's chamber.”</p><p>“Yes”, the Viscount mumbled and finally entered the room, holding up the chandelier to take a look around. Geralt carefully closed the door behind them and took the opportunity to watch Jaskier's stony face as the man passed a bookshelf, reading the titles with his head slightly tilted. There was a portrait next to the dust covered bed, showing a noble couple that stood in front of a fantasy sceneries of grey cliffs, surrounded by mermaids and woodland creatures.</p><p>Geralt stepped closer to take a look at the painting. He recognized the woman immediately. Isabel de Lettehoven had been a breathtaking young woman, slim and delicate, her face fashionably pale and motionless. Her husband Alfred had been quite the opposite. A broad man, his features kind, but wheathered by the responsibilities of rulership. He had piercing blue eyes and dark brown hair.</p><p>Jaskier appeared at Geralt's side, contemplating the painting for a while with an unreadable look on his face.</p><p>“It was one of wedding gifts my father had commissioned for my – mother”, he explained finally, presenting a false smile. “For <em>Isabel</em>. I started calling her that after I found out I was a bastard. I was seven years old and my former wet nurse dared to explain why Isabel couldn't stand the sight of me.”</p><p>“It was one of the first things Isabel pointed out after we met her”, Geralt hummed and decided to never think about the woman as Jaskier's mother again. “You stood up to her cruelty. I was impressed.”</p><p>The Viscount laughed dryly and suddenly, their shoulders touched again and Geralt knew it wasn't a coincidence at all. His friend needed support and he would accept the touch even it made his own heart beat speed up. </p><p>“I had always wondered why she adored my little brother, but never had a kind word for me. Sometimes, she would hit me for no reason and I fled to my father's office or his room, hiding there until he found me, solacing me with rough hugs and small gifts. But he never confronted or punished Isabel for her actions. I loved my father for his kindness, but I despised him for his cowardice. It tore me apart, metaphorically. Then my father died. A hunting accident. Things got worse after that. Isabel finally decided to send me to the cloister school and nobody dared to object.” Jaskier chuckled weakly and the chandelier swayed, as the man's hand started to tremble. “You must think I'm a piteous figure. A grown man who can't shake off his past.”</p><p>Geralt inhaled sharply and shook his head, taking the chandelier from his friend's hand, carefully placing in on the nightstand that stood below the portrait. The flames flickered, casting deep shadows on the painted faces frozen in time.</p><p>“I still feel the hands of the mages who held me down while I underwent the Trial of the Grasses when I was a boy”, the Witcher admitted and allowed his own, private pain to shine through. He held Jaskier's gaze and found compassion there, a silent mutual understanding that he had missed so deeply that he felt short of breath. “Whenever I wake up from unconsciousness and I feel a sorcerer nearby, I want to-.”</p><p>Geralt stopped as Jaskier's fingers touched the nape of his neck, bare fingertips on his skin, radiating soothing warmth. A shiver ran down his back and it took all this strength to endure this special kind of torture. Finally, the Viscount's hand fell and Geralt could breathe again.</p><p>“Sorry”, Jaskier mumbled ruefully. “I know you hate to be touched.”</p><p>“I don't hate it”, Geralt confessed and stared down at the beeswax candles in the chandelier, inhaling the sweet scent he had always liked. He closed his eyes for a while, recalling the jolts of longing that Jaskier's tender gesture of reassurance had sent through his tensed body.  “It's just that Witcher's aren't exactly made for it. The only creatures that want to approach us willingly are the monsters we're hunting down. In my head, unexpected touches are linked with assaults, reminding me that I let my guard down and allowed another being to come too close.”</p><p>The Viscount said nothing but Geralt could feel his friend's open confusion.</p><p>“You never told me that”, Jaskier whispered and suddenly smelled like salt and sadness again. “All those years I thought it was me you were rejecting. I mean, all these women -.”</p><p>Geralt clenched his jaw again. His own voice sounded foreign in his ears.</p><p>“These were encounters I could prepare for, Jaskier. I knew what I wanted and what had to be expected. Being with you was different.”</p><p>“Constant assaults”, the Viscount rasped in despair and wanted to add something, but Geralt cut him short.</p><p>“I could have told you to stop, Jaskier. And I could have left every time I wanted. But I didn't. I meant what I said on the keep. Do you remember?”</p><p>The Viscount sat down on the bed. Dusk flakes danced in the candle lit air, smelling of decay and neglect. Jaskier's face was ashen and his hands, laying on his thighs, still trembled visibly. His gaze was locked at Geralt's figure, intense, penetrating, as if he saw the Witcher for the first time in his life and needed time to understand what he had just discovered. Uneasiness prickled in the Geralt's limbs and he suddenly felt like a prey animal that couldn't escape a hunter's trap.</p><p>“You told me that you were yourself because of me. I didn't understand the words that day, but – you came and you stayed. I was at my lowest, but you refused to leave me.” There was a silent amazement in Jaskier's voice Geralt's couldn't quite grasp. “Will you explain it to me now?”</p><p>The Witcher recognized this was indeed a trap he had manoeuvred himself into consciously and now his heart was as open as his eyes had been. It felt like he was allowing Jaskier to gralloch him with his own hunting knife. He shouldn't have come here, he told himself. He should run, follow his instincts to either fight or flee. But Jaskier's eyes never left him, soft and demanding and he just wouldn't dare to leave his friend again.</p><p>“The tide turns, this is the age of men. There are less and less monsters out there. When they are gone, where is a Witcher's place in this world?” Geralt spoke carefully, slowly, as he allowed his deepest thoughts to surface. “I always thought I would die alone, forgotten by human society, mourned only by my brothers who would follow me into soon after. Then I met you and I started to hope that maybe, if there were more humans who would be willing to tolerate a Witcher, we could try to start anew. You came up with your songs and suddenly, I saw the new Path I had always wished for. Your dedication was an undeserved gift, not only for myself, but for my brothers, too. They made me the man I am now.” He bowed his head. “But I let you down. Never thanked you. And drove you out of my life and into a dying wish.”</p><p>It was the longest speech Geralt had made in his life and Jaskier just sat there, dumbstrucked, frozen, eyes wide with shock. The Viscount didn't tremble any more, but glowed with silent adoration of Geralt's visible efforts to find the right words.</p><p>“Oh, love, no!” Jaskier murmured and shook his head in disbelief. “It wasn't your fault I finally broke down. I have been like this for all my life. Our quarrel was just the final drop in a chalice of sorrow. Please -.”</p><p>The Viscount staggered to his feet and approached Geralt with three swift steps, nearly toppling over in his haste. Slender, but surprisingly strong arms embraced the Witcher and suddenly, Geralt could feel the pressure of Jaskier's chest against his, sense his friend's heartbeat through the soft layers of their clothing. The bard's forehead came to rest on his shoulder, his breath ghosting over Geralt's throat like a warm caress.</p><p>It was intimate. It was too much. It was everything.</p><p>“Please don't blame yourself any more. It's over. I forgive you.” Jaskier mumbled and his hands finally gently stroked the Witcher's back, up and down, calming touches, bare of desire, but nevertheless deeply emotional. The bard didn't look up, leaning into Geralt's body, searching for strength and consolation. “When we parted on that mountainside, I had been tired and in constant pain for quite a while. For years, actually. It started in my head when I was a child, but soon, it began to consume my body. I always felt I would never be enough, no matter how hard I tried to win over people. Not enough for my parents, for my friends, lovers, travel companions. I failed constantly. It ate me up, made me feel like an old man trapped in a puppet with a cheerful face. I always knew that, one day, I would be too hollow and that I wouldn't have the strength to hold my songbook any more, to sing or struck a cord. But I pushed myself further and further, denying that I needed to rest. I was glad that during summers, I didn't feel like a total loss, but as a person who finally had a value. And then it ended and I did what I did every winter. I drank and I whored around and tried to survive.”</p><p>Geralt didn't know what to respond. So he just hold his friend, listened to the younger man's soft breathing, inhaled the scent of tears and everything that was just <em>Jaskier</em>, the smell of a makeshift home under summer stars, shared wine in the corner of a soot-blackened tavern and a dusty road that wasn't filled with loneliness, but with laughter and song. His own hands felt too large on the bard's slim body, but he didn't dare to move them from where they keep his friend in an embrace that was as desperate as Jaskier's.</p><p>“Anne confronted me one night in Toussaint. She had seen right through me. Her judgement cut the puppet's strings and I realised that I could try to get up again, but that it would require more strength than I had left. So I ran to that bridge and jumped. I was so tired of fighting, Geralt. I still am.”</p><p>The Witcher's hand began to trace the delicate line of Jaskier's back, felt the familiar body arching into his touch. His stubbly cheek touched his friend's hair and it was as soft as he had imagined it. </p><p>“Alright”, he mumbled and held the younger man like he would hold a fragile glass statue, allowing himself to bask in a moment where the outside world had no meaning any more. It was just them, companions, friends, familiars. Everything hurt, his head and his heart pulsed with want and self-reproaches as he finally gave in to his needs to be near the man he had just recovered. Even his body was in pain as he denied himself to hug Jaskier tighter, so tight that he could simply absorb him, just to show him how much he had become a vital part of Geralt's life during the last years. It was a feral impulse that made his fingers stiff with tension. “It will be alright, Jaskier. I promise.”</p><p>“You can't. But I want to believe you”, the bard mumbled. He didn't let go. They held each other for a while, falling silent, lost for words. The gelid night wind was howling and rain gushed down on Lettehove castle, but they just stood there, warm and content in each other's company. There was no awkwardness in their touch, just the realisation that their bodies fitted perfectly in any way Geralt could imagine.</p><p>“I need to go”, the bard finally mumbled and the Witcher could sense how exhausted his friend was. He reluctantly opened his arms, but Jaskier didn't immediately retreat as Geralt had expected. The bard just lifted his head and they looked at each other, only candle light dancing between their faces. The world stopped.</p><p>It would have been easy to just lean down and brush his lips against Jaskier's mouth, feeling his soft beard and his warm skin, stealing his breath. But it just wasn't right. It would break the brittle equilibrium they had established during the last days, a decision made out of desperation and loneliness, reckless and without any regards to the duties and responsibilities they both would face as soon as they would leave the room again.</p><p>“Good night, Jaskier”, Geralt said softly.</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Turn of the tide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt found the great hall to be empty and cool at dusk, so he decided he wouldn't bother the servants to serve him there and that he would try to get breakfast at the castle's kitchen. It was strange to experience that he was actually having a choice how to get a proper meal in the morning. Most of the time he spend with humans, they would deny him food or any kind of service, so Lettehove castle amazed him one more time.</p><p>The deerhounds who had been sleeping at the central hearth of the hall opened their eyes as soon as they sensed his presence and followed him along the corridor and down the stairs, their soft ears pointing forwards and clearly aware that he was up to something they would definitely like.</p><p>The Witcher sighed and absently fondled a large furry head pressing into his palm. Maybe a dog would be a good companion for Ciri, he thought.</p><p>“No dogs in my kitchen!”, Cook barked as she saw the Witcher standing at her doorstep, surrounded by the pack of waist high dogs. The elderly woman looked fearsome as ever and Geralt was sure she could intimidate a small army just by furrowing her brows and using that particular tone that left no room for contradictions.</p><p>“Uhm”, Geralt said and stared down into three pairs of begging eyes. “Stay”, he growled, hand raised, and the dogs whined, but obeyed immediately, sitting down and wagging their tails in anticipation whilte Geralt dared to enter Cook's realm.</p><p>The woman was beating flour, milk and eggs into a smooth batter in a large bowl and her enormous arms wobbled. Two kitchen servants who hung a giant oiled pan over the hearth didn't even dare to look up from their tasks, clearly intimidated by these arms who look strong enough to drag them out of the kitchen without greater problems. The mixture of smells in the warm kitchen was overwhelming, but Geralt decided he could stand it, especially when Cook handed the bowl to the men and they started to drop small portions of batter into the sizzling pan.</p><p>“Whit ye want, Master Geralt?”, Cook asked him, followed the Witcher's gaze and hummed. “Breakfast? Ye not the first to come this mornin. The Lady just left for a ride.”</p><p>The Witcher blinked and immediately took his mental leave from the pancakes.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“Just a moment ago”, Cook told him and clicked her tongue in dismay. “No breakfast then, eh? Let me just give ye -.” </p><p>Seconds later, the handed him an apple and a leftover cold chicken pastry and waved him off. Geralt didn't dare to cross the kitchen to get outside, knowing the dogs would inevitably follow, so he took a detour and arrived at the stables just in time to meet Anne as she led Winter out of his box. The sturdy white horse was tacked up and ready to go and didn't even flinch at the sight of the dogs. </p><p>“Good morning”, the Viscountess said and eyed the food with a small grin. “Ah, you met Cook. She gave me twice as much, telling my I looked like a sad beanpole.” </p><p>“Charming”, Geralt grumbled. “May I join you?”</p><p>It was a foggy morning, the sky still overcast and of a menacing anthracite colour.  It surely would start to rain again in the next hour. Anne was wearing a warm coat, a gugel and her leather gloves. She shot him a startled look.</p><p>“Dressed like that? Are Witcher's insensitive to cold?”, she inquired and laughed at his sheepish glance shifting between his breakfast, the woman and the dogs. “Here, give me the food and get at least a cloak”, she demanded and who was he to turn her down?</p><p>He decided to bring his swords as well as his coat and his saddlebags. Lettehove didn't seem to be a dangerous place, but his instincts and life experience told him to be on his guard. Roach whinnied and tossed her head happily at his sight and it took less than five minutes to get her ready. He didn't forget to thoroughly check on her coat and her hooves before saddling the mare. </p><p>Anne had waited patiently for him and the dogs also looked surprisingly calm. Geralt wondered where his breakfast had gone, but then spotted apple and pastry crumbs on the animals' lips.</p><p>“Sorry”, Anne smiled, slightly embarrassed. “I couldn't bear their hungry stares. You can have my food.”</p><p>“Later”, Geralt growled, but couldn't hide his amusement. They rode off in silence and the dogs followed them, barking and jumping enthusiastically and exploring the landscape outside the castle. Anne took the lead and headed for a slightly sloping path that led towards the fishing village and the fog covered coastline. A steady, moist wind blew and the Witcher allowed himself to breathe freely, opening all his senses to the cold autumn morning at the seaside. He couldn't recall when he had been at the ocean under circumstances like these – experiencing it as a place to live, not only seeing it as an inevitable obstacle on his way to fulfil another pressing contract.</p><p>The rough beauty of the dark cliffs, the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, the cry of sea birds, everything blended into a sensation of a strange warm melancholy. </p><p>They passed the junction where the path led to the village and chose a small, beaten trail that led them to the beach extending below the cliffs. They moved slowly, letting the horses find their way over the slippery soil and finally, they arrived at the beach. The dogs shot off, barking and whirling up sand and shells under their soft paws.</p><p>“I owe you an answer”, Geralt said as they rode towards the waterline. He had to speak up, as the wind stole the words right out of his mouth. Anne quirked a brow and smiled thoughtfully.</p><p>“Not only one, but please go on”, she requested and patted Winter's neck. The white horse pranced playfully as the waves touched its ankles, but the Viscountess steadied the animal with a soft grip on the reins so that she could stay close to Geralt. </p><p>“Witchers aren't immune to the cold or any other external influence. We have been cultured to have a higher pain tolerance, a slower heartbeat and circulation. We don't get sick or poisoned easily. Our senses have been enhanced and our feelings muted so we can deal with monster attacks better than any human.”</p><p>Anne's mouth was a firm line now, bloodless.</p><p>“So your emotional predisposition controls your whole life, then?”</p><p>“I can – try to work around it, but I feel an inner resistance as soon as I try. Also a part of my mutations, I think. Why are you asking?”, the Witcher replied and observed the complex interplay of feelings displayed on the woman's face. </p><p>“Julian told me you had a family. Your Witcher companions and a Child of Surprise.” Geralt blinked at that personal remark, wondering how much details Jaskier had revealed to his wife. But her next words eased his inner tension. “What's her name?”</p><p>“Fiona.” The Witcher was unsure if he should reveal the whole story of the child being the rightful heir to Cintra's throne to Jaskier's wife, but decided against it. The revelation would only result in more questions and maybe more reproaches. “She lives with my kin at the moment. Kin by destiny and choice, not by blood.”</p><p>“Would you tell me about your family, Geralt?” Annes green eyes and her words were very soft. He noticed she hadn't answered his question about her motives either, but decided to let the matter rest. Instead, he searched for the right phrases to describe the men and women he cherished more than his own life.</p><p>“Vesemir was a fencing instructor at Kaer Morhen keep when I underwent the Trails, the process of becoming a Witcher. He is the oldest Wolf School member who is still alive and that is for a reason. He is a wise and experienced mentor for all of us. Then there's Eskel. We grew up together.” Geralt felt that he smiled and didn't hide his affection for his coeval brother. “He is the best of us, I think. Reliable, smart, eager for knowledge. Unbearably sad, sometimes. And then there's Lambert, who is – hm.”</p><p>“The special one?”, Anne asked, grinning mischievously and  Geralt couldn't help but nod at the accurate description.</p><p>“Angry, impetuous, troubled”, the Witcher declared. “He's the youngest Wolf Witcher still alive. And Fiona-.” His voice trailed off and he focused on the muted sound of hooves on wet sand and the distant bark of the playing deerhounds. Sadness gripped his heart, reminding him of his failures in the past years. He thought of Ciri and felt that his face softened again. “She's fourteen, now. Beautiful, gifted, kind beyond compare. Open-hearted, even though she hurts a lot. She lost her real family a year ago and is still grieving.”</p><p>“Fourteen”, Anne mused and shook her head slowly, lost in her thoughts for quite a while. “Same age I was when I left Norderfen. Very close to womanhood. Fiona must feel terribly alone, surrounded by immortal men”, she sighed. The Witcher flinched at the words, but Anne shot him a reassuring smile that lit up her eyes. “That wasn't a rebuke, Geralt, relax, please. As far I can tell now, you would never deliberately harm that girl. Even more, I think you managed to work around your mutation's restrictions just fine. In case you haven't noticed, you can very well describe the emotions your family members are coping with. You couldn't do that if you wouldn't feel a resonance of these sentiments within yourself.”</p><p>“You sound like Jaskier”, Geralt grumbled, face stern again, and looked away. He was trying to hide the turmoil that tore him apart right now and every minute of his life. He fondled Roach's mane to ground himself. The animal's presence always helped him as the mare represented how he approached life in general – he preferred constancy to changes. It was true, though, that he had accepted Ciri without even questioning his developing feelings for her. He had blamed, of course, the overwhelming force of destiny. Some things were meant to be, he had told himself over and over again. Being reminded that he had never had a problem to feel sympathy or even love for his brothers and the women during his life left him dazzled. Anne smirked at him and finally loosened her grip around the reins, pressing her legs into her horse's flanks.</p><p>“And you're avoiding a clear answer, again”, she shouted and cantered off. Geralt felt obliged to follow her immediately, afraid she might fall of Winter's back and hurt herself or her child. Shit, another person he cared for, he thought and sighed. But she didn't fall, sitting tall and firmly in her saddle, enjoying the crisp, salty air with a blissfully smile.</p><p>Cold water splashed as the two riders raced the waterline, three clumsy dogs hard on their heels. In the end, as all animals were on the brink of exhausting, the group slowed down again and Geralt was surprised to feel that the tension of the past days had fallen off. Riding Roach just to enjoy the experience was as rare as the voluntary visit of a cold and foggy beach. A soft rain had begun to fall, soaking the rest of their clothes that had miraculously stayed dry during their ride.</p><p>“That was wonderful”, Anne beamed. He hand rested protectively on her belly and she looked down, glowing with joy, out of breath. Geralt thought that this woman with her dark voice and her resolute behaviour would never be only a casual love interest for any person. She would never aim for less than being a tough, sassy equal in her relationship. “I will deeply miss riding. But it's better I've done this before I'm swollen like a dairy cow.”</p><p>Geralt bit down a chuckle and coughed instead. The left the beach in the same easy silence they had experienced on their way to the seaside.</p><p>“So, Master Witcher, I will gift you another question for stealing your breakfast”, the Viscountess offered as they had finally reached to top of the cliffs and brushed her soaked hair from her face. The cold air caused the warm moisture in her breath to condense into a small, misty cloud.</p><p>“Hm”, Geralt made, feeling dissatisfied by the sudden feeling of pressure in his chest. “Why do I feel like this is sort of a guessing game?”</p><p>“It isn't”, Anne shot back and her brow furrowed, but she didn't look upset, just pensive. “But I feel we are nevertheless on the same board, knowing the rules and sharing a mutual goal.”</p><p>“And that would be?”, the Witcher asked gruffly. He already knew the answer in his heart, but refused to let it show.</p><p>“We both care about the same man and I need to make sure that you will not hurt him again”, Anne explained silently, her hands shaking from the cold and the exhaustion. “And even as every inch of you tells me how deeply you feel for him, I need to hear it from you to be sure that he will be safe.”</p><p>“A Witcher's Path isn't safe place for a human”, Geralt gritted, evading a clear confession again.</p><p>“He wasn't sharing your path when he broke down last winter”, Anne mumbled, biting her lip and lowering her chins into the brim of her woollen gugel. “Life isn't about circling well calculated risks, Geralt. It's about living. Especially for humans.”</p><p>“Terribly wise”, the Witcher snorted and Anne's eyes narrowed. He expected an emotional outburst, but the Viscountess refused to be provoked by his rude tone.</p><p>“At least one of us is”, she retorted sternly. “Look, what do you think my marriage is?”</p><p>“A bargain”, Geralt repeated Jaskier's words coolly. Anne sighed and hunched her shoulders. A thin smile played on her lips.</p><p>“Yes, a bargain. Julian and I, we were desperate. I am pregnant and he is dying. He wanted to gift the rest of his life to me because he had a bad conscience about what happened. I refused multiple times, but in the end I accepted his proposal. He was telling me that it would make him happy to see that the child and I were well accommodated .” She gestured towards Lettehove castle, barely visible beyond the grey sheets of rain and her voice became louder. In the end, she was yelling at him: “And then you were coming along and your presence changed everything, Geralt! Everything! Because now, I can see what I had suspected right from the start. He will never be happy being bound to me by the oath we swore at Melitele's altar. I should have known better than marrying a man who loves his best friend. I should have relieved him from the liability he had made up to be his punishment. But I accepted everything because I was afraid and a coward and now, we're all terribly, utterly messed up, you moron!”</p><p>“Fuck.” Geralt said numbly. Realisation crashed down on him like a sledge hammer.</p><p>“Yes. Fuck indeed.” Anne sighed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand angrily. “So, by the Gods, Geralt. Do you love him like he loves you?”</p><p>“I think I do”, the Witcher said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. At your mercy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was only the deafening sound of complete silence as Geralt and Anne rode back to the castle. Even the dogs understood that something significant had happened and tried to keep out of the riders' way. The rain had dimmed to a soft trickle, but Geralt didn't even notice. He was focussed on Anne de Lettehove's tensed jawline, her stoic face and the way her scent had changed to something sour and acid. It was a sort of fear he could sense, but it wasn't directed at him. He didn't understand why because obviously he deserved her wrath.</p><p>He wasn't sure why he had finally told her the truth. It would have been easy to lie and maybe it would have been the right choice. He had felt that she had been on the edge and that she didn't deserve another low blow. And yet, he had decided to do exactly that. He had shattered her life's frail security with four words.</p><p>She had stopped crying after his confession, but her eyes had been numb during their ride home. Geralt felt he needed to apologize, but he didn't know how. Anne had laid her future into Jaskier's hands and now, everything she had wanted for herself and for her child was in jeopary. But she had pressed the matter until the point where Geralt couldn't have done anything but to give in. He was so tired of the secrets, the underlying aggression and the silent demands he couldn't comprehend.</p><p>They passed the main gate that led to the lower courtyard and dismounted silently. The dogs shook themselves and trotted away, always prepared to hunt for another treat or a friendly scratch behind their soft ears. Geralt took Roach's reins and found the stable ward waiting for them.</p><p>“You”, he growled. “Go send for a hot bath for the Lady.” The young man didn't even dare to object and darted off with eyes blown wide with fear. “I can take your horse”, he offered and finally dared to face Anne, extending his hand to take over her reins as well.</p><p>The woman blinked and suddenly, life seemed to return into her frail figure. She shook her head with a frown and led Winter into the well quipped box in the stables. The first thing she did was removing the bridle and rummaging her saddle bags. An apple disappeared in Winter's mouth and the grey munched it with visible and audible delight. </p><p>Geralt followed cautiously, patting Roach's neck. He dared to observe the Viscountess from the corner of his eye. Anne looked pale and frozen to the bone, but her green eyes glimmered like burning coals as she suddenly turned and handed Geralt another apple and the long forgotten pastry over the fence between the horse boxes.</p><p>“Here”, she said gloomily. “I told you I would give it to you.”</p><p>The Witcher wasn't the most intelligent man, but he knew this wasn't about food any more. This was about Anne's perception of life, about keeping promises not matter what it would cost her. So he took what she offered and mumbled his thanks, unsure what she needed to hear from him.</p><p>Finally, the horses were groomed and brushed down, enjoying the fresh water in the drinking troughs and the fine grain and hay the stable wards had filled into the feed rack. Geralt and Anne met again at the stable door and simply stared at each other. The Viscountess' lips quivered as she fought for self control.</p><p>“I swear by the gods, Geralt, if you ruin this, I will -.”</p><p>“I know”, he rumbled, still surprised and abashed by her generosity and her iron clad principles. There were few people on the Continent who would be willing to endanger their personal security for another person's well-being. Some of them, including Anne, were Toussaint knights at the heart. “I deserve your hate.”</p><p>“Hate will never be my way. It's too easy to choose and too hard to let go”, Anne mumbled and removed her soaked gloves, wringing the leather in her strong fingers. She avoided his glance. “I suppose you will find Julian at his office. He was planning a meeting with the bailiff this morning.”</p><p>She nodded brusquely and Geralt recalled the short and sincere speech the woman had given at the great hall some nights ago. How the people living at the castle had been willing to accept her, the confident and decisive conduct she was able to keep up despite of all the hardness she had been going through. Anne de Lettehove never failed to amaze him and he knew he needed to find a fitting expression for this rare emotion.</p><p>“Thank you, Mylady”, he said gravely and bowed his head. It was the first time he addressed her with her title and her eyes widened slightly, before the smallest of smiles appeared on her lips. As she headed for the bathhouse, the Witcher watched her until she disappeared through the door.</p><p>He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Jaskier, he thought numbly and finally swayed under the shock he had been suppressing since the moment on the beach that had exposed his soul in front of the world. He panicked, but this time, the sharp sensation was mingled with a feeling of unbearable hope and longing. </p><p>Geralt didn't even think about changing into something that wasn't soaked with salt water and rain and as he entered the Viscount's office after a short, impatient knock, two pair of confused eyes reminded him that maybe he should have. The men had been brooding over the accounting records together and the bailiff put the quill he had been holding into the inkwell.</p><p>“Is everything alright, Geralt?”, Jaskier asked, raising slightly alarmed and dismissing the bailiff with a nod. Ambrose bowed low and retreated immediately. Behind him, the door clunked shut. “Did something happen during your ride? How's Anne?”</p><p>“Yes, errmm.” The Witcher flinched at the concern in Jaskier's voice. This wasn't going well. “I mean she is alright. I suppose. Maybe-.”</p><p>“What are you hiding?” The Viscount left his place behind his large oaken desk, voice thick with worry. His fingers were stained with ink and Geralt only noticed it when the former bard's calloused fingertips touched his chest, pressing on the spot right over his heart. He feared the human could feel the frantic beat behind his tunic and his skin. “Dear love, would you mind using complete sentences, for the sake of variety?”, Jaskier added and now, a hint of impatience and humour shone in his blue eyes. “I am too old to deduce your answers from your never ending grunts and harrumphs.”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt's hand covered his friend's fingers without even thinking what he was doing. The other man's skin was warm and dry, burning its way right through the Witcher's self constraint. “You aren't old.”</p><p>It wasn't exactly what he had wanted to say, but the way the Viscount's bearded face lit up made Geralt's stomach churn. A slow smile tucked into the corners of Jaskier's mouth.</p><p>“So nothing happened? You just stomped in for a compliment?”, the Viscount quipped and slightly tilted his head. “Soaking my precious wooden floor and looking like a Drowner facing Igni?”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt didn't know if it would be appropriate to shake the bard until his teeth chattered. But that would mean he needed to let go of Jaskier's hand and he wasn't willing to do that at the moment. Just standing here, being so close to the man he had fallen in love with was just enough and would never be enough at the same time. It robbed him of his spare conversation skills, but he didn't complain.</p><p>“That's my name. Don't wear if off”, Jaskier mumbled with a sly grin and Geralt fought the feral urge to cover the Viscount's lips with his own. Silencing the bard like this would be indeed double satisfactory. “Now shoo, out you get. I need to finish my calculations.” The Viscount flinched in dismay. “Gods, I never thought I would to say that.”</p><p>He tried to wiggle his elegant fingers free in an obviously lukewam attempt and darted Geralt an apologetic look. The Witcher glanced down and noticed a detail he hadn't detected before. He hadn't felt unnatural heat of inflamed finger joints during their brief skin contact.</p><p>“Your hands”, Geralt hummed, suddenly deeply content again. “Your gout. It's gone.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Jaskier stared at his hands and his mouth dropped open in sheer disbelief. “Oh. That's -. Oh. I should tell Anne. She'll be delighted.”</p><p>The Witcher groaned silently. This was the form of torture he deserved. But he managed to leave Jaskier's personal space, stepping back in a fluid motion.</p><p>“She's at the bathhouse”, he mumbled and watched the Viscount leave the room with a spring in his step. With a sigh, Geralt pressed his head to the cool stone wall and waited until he felt steady enough to leave for his chamber.</p><p>He changed quickly and decided he was in dire need of a distraction, so he dressed up in his old gambeson, took his swords and joined the morning training with the members of Lettehoven guard, a group of young men, most of them in their mid twenties. It had been young Pieter's explicite wish that they sparred together and Geralt needed the practice, so he more than willing to join in. Only Quentin signalled his refusal to take part in the exercises, but the old man sat down on a bench at the lower courtyard, lit his pipe and watched attentively as Geralt showed the men some tricks with swords, polearms and gisames.</p><p>The Witcher found it hard to concentrate. His thoughts drifted away again and again, until his opponent, a shy boy who had just reached adolescence hit his elbow with a clumsy, but forceful blow and the sharp pain catapulted Geralt back into the here and now. His sword hit the ground. The young guardsman paled and gasped for air as he realized he had just disarmed a Witcher. He was clearly expecting a sudden death. Geralt couldn't suppress a grin. </p><p>“Well done”, he grumbled, picking up his weapon, and the kid staggered to the sideline of the courtyard with a huge sunny grin. Geralt did nothing to diminish the guard's triumph. He had known too many men like him. Too inexperienced, too eager to face the world and its dangers. They normally died five minutes after marching on a proper battlefield. The boy deserved at least a brief moment of joy.</p><p>The Witcher excused himself from the training and headed back to his room. He carelessly dropped his gambeson on one of the chairs and took off his tunic. The fine layer of sweat on his heated skin and the familiar feeling of a dull pain in some of his limbs helped him to ground himself again, but his relief only lasted for seconds.</p><p>The door crashed open and hit the wall with a thud. Jaskier stood in the frame and he was furious. His anger hit Geralt like a wave, violent and red hot. The Witcher froze, paralysed be the fear that rolled through his body. The instincts that had been drummed into his head told him to fight or flee, but it was his human side who took over and accepted that, finally, things were out of his hands.  He had lost control and it was terrifying.</p><p>“How dare you!” Each single word out of Jaskier's mouth felt like whiplash. “You told me she was alright. You liar! She is out of her mind. Threw my out of my own bathhouse, yelling at me like a lunatic. Explain yourself or I will -.”</p><p>“I told her that I love you.” Geralt hated how flat and detached his voice sounded. He had hoped that he would be able to take his time to phrase his longing into adequate words, but he felt how his throat constricted in despair. “Because she wanted me to.”</p><p>Jaskier stopped dead. His face displayed his shock and his lips moved, but not a single eloquent word slipped out. Instead, he turned to close the door very carefully before leaning on the wood and staring at Geralt in disbelief.</p><p>“Is this kind of a sick joke?”, he croaked. “Because it's not funny at all. I have -.” Jaskier cleared his throat and suddenly, the air smelled of dark misery and something else that Geralt couldn't identify. It was like cinnamon and honey, very sweet and tangy. “I have longed for you all these years. I told you that. And now you suddenly decide to -.” The former bard's face was distorted with despair. His body tensed up as realisation hit him. “You concocted this plan together, didn't you?” Jaskier shook with rage. “The two of you thought you could fix me with this pretty little lie?”</p><p>“No”, Geralt yelled and rushed forward. His palms hit the smooth surface of door, trapping Jaskier between his arms. The other man flinched, but didn't move, rigid with surprise. The Witcher breathed heavily, shaken by the maelstrom of emotions that fogged his mind. “No lie.”</p><p>The Viscount fell silent again and his cornflower blue gaze suddenly softened as they simply looked at each other.</p><p>“Geralt”, Jaskier answered, scarcely audible. He looked torn. “I can't -.” The slender man slowly leaned forward and their foreheads touched. Their breath mingled pleasantly. The Witcher could sense the bard's dichotomy in his smell, in the way Jaskier's body suddenly became pliant and relaxed. “I need to-.”</p><p>“It's not a lie”, Geralt murmured softly, repeating it. He knew it was the most important thing he had said in a long time, but it left him terribly exposed and helpless. “I'm at your mercy, Jaskier. You have me now. You always had.”</p><p>The bard moaned in despair and pulled his head back with a jerk. Geralt's heart shattered.</p><p>Reality lost its momentum as Jaskier suddenly lunged at him with unexpected vigour and their lips met in a frantic kiss. Geralt sighed as he finally tasted his friend, Jaskier's firm lips, his gifted tongue. The intense honey and cinnamon scent sent a shiver through the Witcher's body as he pinioned Jaskier firmly against the door, deepening the kiss, carefully weaving his hands into the bard's soft hair to draw him closer. He had never touched another man like this, but it felt sinful and just so right. The small satisfied sounds that emerged from Jaskier's throat were just as delicious as his taste and Geralt thought he wanted to hold him forever like this, but he wasn't granted to explore any further as Jaskier suddenly drew away, panting heavily.</p><p>“I need to go”, the Viscount rasped, blushed deeply with shame and arousal as the understood what had just happened. The Witcher blinked and released his grip immediately, too shaken to object. Jaskier fled the room, but his smell lingered, loving and sincere. Geralt knew that, no matter what would happen next, this scent would be preserved in his memory for the rest of his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I suck at writing romantic scenes...*sighs* I hope you like it anyway, because it's the first M/M kiss I have ever written. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Post tenebras lux</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt spent the rest of the day in meditation, knowing it was the only way of existing without getting eaten up by his remorse. Being enamoured with his human best friend was something he now could admit to himself. Jaskier was intelligent, protective and well-meaning, characteristics Geralt had always appreciated.</p><p>On the other hand, the bard was a genius and a complete idiot at the same time. The minstrel had always lacked any instinct of self-preservation and his habit of stirring up every hornet's nest when his crotch told him to had been a source of never ending annoyance for Geralt, who preferred life to be structured and void of emotions. </p><p>Now, after holding his friend in his arms the night before and really <em> listening</em> to him, it finally all made sense, especially the bard's less flattering qualities . Jaskier had searched for adoration and love, but in all the wrong places and definitely with the wrong approach on life.</p><p>The bard had been heading for the bright and the beautiful, the charming and the extraordinary, for the few rare individuals who set benchmarks that were just impossible for any other human to meet. He had been a liar and a cheater to prove himself and the world that he had a value. And in the end, he had also been a notorious coward who hadn't been able to stand up for his true desires and the inevitably following misdeeds.</p><p>Jaskier hadn't been able to see that he had so many wonderful qualities and that people adored him for them, blinded by his fear of being not enough. It had always been a question of perspective and Geralt knew that he was partly responsible for Jaskier's despair. He had spent twenty years mocking the bard's unhealthy ambitions without even trying to understand why Jaskier had been mooning over other people's perfection over and over again, doing everything to meet their standards.</p><p>His own refusal of getting attached and his self loathing had kept Geralt from being the support and the friend the bard deserved. He had understood it and had been determined to make amends, telling himself he would provide mental support, nothing else. Until this morning.</p><p>Of course, meeting Jaskier again had reminded the Witcher that the minstrel was an attractive man and the few moment of physical closeness had been filled with such an emotional load that Geralt had convinced himself that he could dismiss his own body's reactions as being owed to his exhaustion and longing for any other person's touch.</p><p>But the kiss had changed everything, again. Losing control and finding out that he was indeed drawn to the man Jaskier was, his arousing scent, the tremor of his voice and the weight of his lean body against his – that had come as a shock. To both of them, Geralt thought as he finally emerged from the meditation after dawn.</p><p>He had succumbed to his monster instincts, written in his blood so long ago. They had reminded him that he wasn't allowed to be anyone's victim, that it was wrong to place himself in the hands of a person who could potentially hurt him. So he had finally attacked, his ultimate choice to end the conflict he had sensed in his friend. And he had forced Jaskier, the hurt and confused man, to kiss him. Or hadn't he, pinning him to the door without a chance of escape?</p><p>Geralt was ashamed and as he stood and flexed his body after the long period of rest, he felt painfully aware of the very mundane spell his short encounter with Jaskier had laid upon him. He ached for his friend's touch again, but he knew that what had happened between them had crossed some borderlines. Whose borderlines? He was unsure of it. Anne's, for sure. Jaskier was married and even thought the Viscount had been quite open with his affection during the last years and not always been the most faithful lover, the young woman nevertheless deserved honesty. She was part of this strange misalliance.</p><p>The Witcher raked his fingers through his hair and knew that it would be easier to face a Slyzward Matriarch than finding out how their triangular relationship would work. But forward was the only way through this mess, so Geralt braced himself and went to the great hall to see if he could find the Viscount or the Viscountess. </p><p>The smell of food lingered in the corridor as he left his room and as the Witcher entered the hall, he found not only the married couple, but also the rest of the Lettehove inhabitants at dinner. It was far too noisy for Geralt's taste, but he was determined to make it through this kind of social gathering. So he sat down at Jaskier's right side and dared to steal a glance at his table companions, pretending to concentrate on the content of the tankard Violet served him with a smile.</p><p>Anne looked composed and serene. Whenever somebody approached her, she answered politely and with earnest interest. Geralt remembered her saying that she would never fit into the life at Lettehove castle, but to be honest, the Witcher knew she would turn out to be a better leader than her husband could have ever been. Where Jaskier was a hummingbird, she was a raptor in disguise, reminding him of Queen Calanthe of Cintra. Anne's fighting experience, her silent determination and her steadiness that instantly built up trust would make her be loved and, maybe, feared, if someone dared to cross her.</p><p>Jaskier, meanwhile, picked up his goblet and took a sip. Geralt blinked as he smelled that it was filled with water. No wine, no beer, no liquor. The Viscount was sober as a judge and now Geralt was really alarmed. </p><p>“Geralt, are you well?” Anne leaned over and creased her brow. The Witcher nearly spit out his beer. She was asking him if <em>he</em> was well? Maybe this whole situation was sort of a lucid and very strange dream. Maybe a Godling had taken over his brain and now tried to keep him in an everlasting loop of complete folly.</p><p>“Erm, yeah”, he croaked and suddenly felt Jaskier's hand brushing over his sleeve. The Witcher looked up from his tankard and found the Viscount smirking at him, eyes warm and sympathetic. All signs of discomfort were gone and Geralt's heart missed a beat, but he kept his face straight. </p><p>“We should talk”, the Viscount mumbled, only loud enough for a Witcher's hearing. “Come to my room later?”</p><p>Geralt just nodded and felt immense relief as Violet showed up again, serving him a filled plate, distracting him from the various fragmented scenarios spinning in his head. As soon as he wanted to focus on one of them in particular, his mind went blank and the spinning started again. </p><p>As dinner ended, the Witcher felt like a tree trunk bent by a storm, tensed and on the brink of breaking. The married couple excused themselves and left the great hall together, Anne's hand resting on Jaskier's arm, the perfect picture of decency. The Viscountess murmured something even Geralt couldn't pick up and the former bard snickered. They seemed to be at peace with whatever would come and it was a sight that made Geralt happy, but slightly suspicions.</p><p>He let some minutes pass, drank another beer and emptied his plate, suddenly very aware that he was hungry. Food was excellent as always and as Violet brought him a pancake, the Witcher was at peace with the world. For now.</p><p>But as he finally entered Jaskier's room, his calmness faded quickly. His friend was alone, sitting in front of his hearth on one of two chairs, long legs stretched out to warm his feet at the crackling flames. His smile was radiant and soft as he gestured at the place next to him. The Witcher sat down, body stiff, his moves awkward. He was no man of words – that had always been his friend's part.</p><p>“So”, Jaskier mumbled and showed a crooked smile. “Thanks for stepping by.”</p><p>“Got an invite.” Geralt really hated small talk, but he knew he wasn't the one who should press any topic. “I was concerned you were angry.”</p><p>The Viscount leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Firelight reflected in his eyes, as he stared into the flames, enjoying the warmth and the smell of the burning logs.</p><p>“I was, but mostly with myself”, Jaskier admitted and sighed. His shoulders sank. “I shouldn't have kissed you before properly talking to you.”</p><p>“I made you do that”, the Witcher mumbled, but the Viscount's angry tone cut him short quite effectively. Never in twenty years had his companion used such a cutting, resolute timbre. It left Geralt speechless.</p><p>“No. You will stop blaming yourself, you giant fool. I can't stand it any more, this endless self loathing.” Jaskier's voice grew soft again and he tilted his head slightly. Their eyes met and a short, comfortable silence followed. “I wanted to kiss you for so long and got overwhelmed. It was my choice. As everything else that has happened during the last days. Don't dare to take over the responsibility you think I can't take. Because I can and I will. And you will listen to me.”</p><p>Geralt blinked slowly and nodded, robbed of any objection that could come to his mind.</p><p>“I will”, the Witcher promised and then was lost for words again, as Jaskier turned and took Geralt's hand into his. This time, there was no made up excuse for the gesture. It was genuine and warm, a symbol of the connection that had always been there, but never had shown itself until this day.</p><p>“I love you, Geralt of Rivia”, Jaskier said and his eyes shone with adoration and softness. Their fingers entangled and the Witcher dared to let them rest on his thigh. The Viscount didn't object. “But I also love my wife. Not romantically, but as the good person she is. Destiny has bonded us and I will not mess with these forces again. Anne once said I chose her to be my companion because I wanted to fill the gap you left as we parted. At first I thought she was right. I mean, you're both honourable people, strong and caring and both of you can endure my strange of humour without killing me.”</p><p>Geralt swallowed hard and his chest constricted, but Jaskier's thumb caressed his hand and the Witchers world fell back into place.</p><p>“Love, please don't panic”, the bard chided him tenderly. “I was doing her wrong, though. She is a person I feel at ease with and I like spending time with her. She's not a copy of yours, no cheap replacement. I simply can't ignore her feelings, her fear that I will leave her immediately to go back on the Path with you or forget about the promises I made.”</p><p>“You would never do that”, Geralt hummed reassuringly, feeling the conflict his friend tried to put into words. “Go on.”</p><p>“See, when I left you, I broke down because I had shifted my whole focus to you. I wanted to meet your expectations, be <em>somebody</em> for you and I forgot to care about myself. I forgot what pleases me.”</p><p>Geralt lowered his head, heavily ashamed as he recalled a very special conversation at the mountainside. If he had listened closely that day, he would had seen that his bard needed him. Instead, he had left for Yennefers's tent to give into the magical bond of lust and longing the djin's wish had created.</p><p>“What pleases you, Jaskier?”, the Witcher dared to ask and looked up again, determined to understand it this time. The Viscount smirked and gentle affection glowed in his blue eyes. A look the Witcher would never become tired of.</p><p>“You, Geralt. Our travels. The comradeship. The songs, the wine, the challenges. But I am pleased by other things now, too and that is why we are having this conversation. I need rest. And the scent of the seaside in the morning. The people of Lettehove. My stubborn wife and the chance to try if I could be a acceptable father. I wonder if you will allow me to have it, as well.”</p><p>The Witcher furrowed his brow.</p><p>“Are you asking me to – share you with this?” Geralt's free hand made an  all-embracing gesture. Jaskier simply nodded.</p><p>“Yes, that is what I ask. Because I have shared you for twenty years with the Path, with your Witcher brothers and Vesemir and now I feel it'ss time that you know I want the same. All these winters you spent at Kaer Morhen -  I never understood it at all. I was envious and desperate because you chose them over me. That has changed, because now, I can finally understand you. Your family and that crumbling keep in the Kaedweni mountains are your roots.”</p><p>Geralt's heart rate slowed down and he exhaled deeply. His friend's – his love's – first words had raised a nameless fear in him and now, all he could feel was dull relief. This sounded like a chance to finally meet and live on an equal footing. He suppressed the urge to laugh. The arrangement Jaskier proposed left him completely dumbstrucked. The Witcher found it hard to believe that something like this would work and mumbled:</p><p>“What about Anne? Would she accept me as your -.”</p><p>Jaskier's hand tightened around Geralt's fingers and the Viscount's tone changed again, became grave with determination.</p><p>“She will accept it because she is convinced of your honesty. But I need to prove her that I am willing and able to help her to get along with her life. She deserves a secure home, a purpose in life, apart from being a mother. I want to support her and I would ask the same of you. If you agree. - Will you agree, Geralt?”</p><p>There was so much anxiety and fragility in Jaskier's bearded face, it made the Witcher's heart bleed, but it was a strangely content feeling. Like a dam that finally broke and released everything he had ever decided to hold back. How could he have possibly deserved this absolute dedication? Not only the bard's, but also Ciri's, Eskel's and Vesemir' s – maybe even Lambert's? All of these men and woman had known and accepted him from the beginning, no matter what he had done, not matter how much harm and pain he had inflicted on them. They were a living testimony that proved he was a lovable person. The pureness of his realisation felt like a wave of warm light surging through his body, filling all the sombre spots in his soul, chasing the darkness away.</p><p>“Post tenebras lux”, Geralt said and felt that a slow smile lit up his face as he finally allowed the glow he felt inside to show on the exterior. Jaskier just stared at him in disbelief, clearly anxious and in dire need of an answer. “I agree”, the Witcher growled and suddenly felt shy and nervous. “If you really want me.”</p><p>The Viscount chuckled and his eyes shone suspiciously wet.</p><p>“I do. I am all wrinkly and battered, Geralt, but I'm yours. From now till forever.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ooouuffff, that was a wall of text and lots of talking and emotions. Next chapter will be soft and maybe a bit smutty, if I dare to write it :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Meeting / Parting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, this will be the penultimate chapter of this fic. I tried so hard to write something smutty, but I decided against it. Just soft men, losts of kissing and cuddling and...yeah :) I hope you enjoy it.</p><p>The last chapter will contain some guest appearances. Please stay with me for it. And thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, that was was show stopping number”, Jaskier murmured and bedded his chin at Geralt's shoulder, hiding his flushed face in the curve of the Witcher's neck. Geralt rumbled something reassuring that only his friend could decipher and pressed a soft kiss at the Viscount's temple.</p><p>Their attempt to get closer had led to the realisation that Jaskier was indeed not a young man any more and that he was incredibly nervous. It happened. So they had ended up laying on the bed and holding each other, cherishing the unbelievable closeness Geralt craved and valued as much as he would have valued any other bodily contact. </p><p>Nevertheless, most of their clothes were gone and the Witcher enjoyed the warmth Jaskier's body emitted, the soft tickle of the Viscount's chest hair against his own skin. A man's body was so different from a woman's and Geralt had felt an immense relief after finding out that bedding a man felt for him just as natural as any of his encounters with the female sex. </p><p>The Witcher smiled and exhaled slowly. His fingers traced down Jaskier's back, beginning at his scalp, massaging it with gentle strokes before descending to the former bard's shoulders, the delicate form of his buttocks. The Visount sighed deeply, leaning into the touch.</p><p>“That's nice”, he purred and his embarrassment over his inadequate performance faded away like a glacier in the summer sun. “I am sorry.”</p><p>“Don't be”, Geralt hummed and his hand returned to the lovely dimples that he had discovered on Jaskier's backside, just over the swell of his bottom. “This is enough. You are enough.”</p><p>The Viscount laughed out in genuine delight and his face shone with adoration, as he finally lifted his head and propped himself up on his forearm. The slender man playfully pecked Geralt's lips and let out a surprised yelp as the Witcher pulled him closer and kissed him again, thoroughly and slowly, enjoying his taste like he would savour a very tasty dessert.</p><p>The settled into the soft cushions again and the Witcher covered them with the huge silk and fur blanket, as the fire had finally died to glowing embers and the night's cold crept through the walls.</p><p>“We need to talk, Geralt”, Jaskier whispered and his hand came to rest on Geralt's stomach, soft and reassuring. “You need to leave for Kaer Morhen soon. I know you can smell the winter in the air. How long will the mountain trail stay passable?”</p><p>The Witcher sighed. It wasn't the pillow talk he had expected, but it was nevertheless important.</p><p>“I should leave as soon as possible”, he confessed and covered Jaskier's hand with his, finger intertwining. “But I am afraid.”</p><p>The Viscount stilled and sucked his breath.</p><p>“And why is that so, love?”</p><p>“Several reasons. I have failed Ciri. I thought she was better off with my brothers. But she is my child surprise and I just keep denying my responsibilities over and over again.”</p><p>“Well”, Jaskier whispered, plastering Geralt's jaw with feathery kisses. “You can learn to be a good father, my dearest Witcher. I know that for sure. You have learned to love an annoying bard. Good practice, I suppose.”</p><p>“Best so far.” Geralt huffed a laugh and ignored the mock indignant squeal the Viscount emitted. He just pulled him tighter and felt that his jaw clenched with sadness. “And I am afraid that you might be gone when I return in spring. What if I don't find you here?”</p><p>Jaskier sighed shakily and his thumb caressed the Witcher's hand.</p><p>“Then you will know I have died a very happy man. Loved by so many wonderful people. You will be happy for the good life I've lead and you will protect my family. Will you, Geralt?”</p><p>“I swear”, the Witcher nodded and took Jaskier's hand, sprawling it on his chest where he could now feel the mixed pulses of their heartbeats. “May I ask you something?”</p><p>“Anything”, the Viscount hummed and suppressed a yawn. “Gods, you feel so wonderful.”</p><p>“Erm, my question is about gods.” Geralt couldn't suppress a grin, although the topic was quite serious. “People told me that you are considered to be gifted by the gods. Due the circumstances of your birth.”</p><p>The Viscount froze for a second, but then his body relaxed against Geralt's.</p><p>“People said that, eh? I guess it was lovely Violet who will now cry her heart out because you are all mine.” Jaskier chuckled lightly. “Yes, it's true. They call it Melitele's Blessing. I never vetoed against it nor did I try to explore  the Why and How. Good things happen, better not to mess with them.”</p><p>“But -”, Geralt argued and Jaskier groaned in fake annoyance.</p><p>“Yeah, but. I think I lost the gift because I lost my will to live.” The Viscount's eyes were gloomy, but still filled with a smile. “I will try to get it back, alright? Maybe the years are gone for good, but maybe there will be many more I can fill with meaning.”</p><p>Geralt simply nodded. He knew it wouldn't be easy for his friend to cast off the behaviour that had led him into misery. But hearing Jaskier's promise that he would try was enough for the moment. Geralt just hoped his bard would make it through the long night of his soul.</p><p>“And maybe you should stop using Melitele's name in combination with raunchy details”, the Witcher suggested with a chuckle as he pressed another kiss on Jaskier's soft, brown strands. “Maybe she's a delicate god after all?”</p><p>“I will take it into consideration.” Jaskier mused playfully, but then his smile faltered. “But I could do it for Anne, though.”</p><p>“You could”, Geralt said softly. “But first and foremost you should do it for yourself. She would want that, too.”<br/>“True. She's been so good for me, I can't believe I deserved her. Or you.” Jaskier's long fingers left Geralts chest and began to draw small circles on the Witcher's abdomen. “You know, she found out about my activities in Toussaint. Of course she did, she's smart. She followed me one night and when a patrol discovered us at a rather sensitive spot, she threw me on a horse and I escaped. And they took her in for interrogation.”</p><p>Geralt suppressed a curse and just stroked his lover's shoulders as Jaskier continued, voice slightly trembling.</p><p>“Someone had blown my contact person's identity. They knew somebody had been providing that man with intelligence papers. And they soon found out that Anne was originally from Redania. Some of the other guards in her unit even testified against her. Jealous pricks, afraid of a strong woman who had surpassed them a so many levels. I just couldn't tell the truth. I was a coward.”</p><p>“You knew they would consider her an accomplice, Jaskier”, the Witcher breathed and tried to sound as reassuring as possible. “They would have killed both of you. There was not way she would have been freed without charge. She decided to sacrifice herself for you. She is a grown up woman and certainly knew what was coming.”</p><p>“I know, but still -.” The Viscount sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. The warm blanket slipped down and his lean body was immediately covered with goosebumps. Self-blame showed on his bearded face. “I immediately turned to Henri-Jean de la Valette and revealed myself, begging for his help. It took us weeks to find out where she was. The knight tried desperately to claim all the favours somebody owed him. As nothing happened, we decided to free her on our own. She was – broken.”</p><p>Geralt wanted to sit up as well as he heard that the Viscount's voice cracked, but Jaskier collapsed back onto his broad chest and so the Witcher just held his friend while Jaskier silently cried. The Witcher cradled him like a child that was in desperate need of solace, caressed his back, kissed his hair and hummed low calming tunes. Finally he felt that Jaskier's breath evened out and the human succumbed to slumber, finally founding the peace he deserved.<br/>They stayed like this for the rest of the night, limbs entangled, safe and warm in a cocoon of long denied closeness. As dusk approached, Geralt sighed and slowly sat up. He hadn't slept much, but he didn't regret a second of missed regeneration. He had taken his time to memorize all the small details that were just <em>Jaskier </em>, his smell, the small sounds the man made while dreaming, the sensation of soft, wavy hair and long legs that pressed against his own. Perfection.</p><p>“Jaskier, I need to go”, he whispered against the Viscount's ear and kissed the bearded jaw. “Can't risk to be found here.”</p><p>The minstrel moaned in disappointment, but nodded sleepily. His blue eyes shone with pure tenderness.</p><p>“Go, pack your bags. But soon-”, Jaskier whispered and caught Geralt's hand with his, pressing a kiss to the Witcher's scarred knuckles. </p><p>“Very soon”, Geralt promised with a warm smile and watched with amusement as his lover fell asleep within seconds again. Some things never changed.</p><p>The Witcher dressed quickly and left the Viscount's room as silently as possible. He was lucky, nobody was up yet and so he decided to mount the strong walls of the castle once again to enjoy the view. They had made it to the ocean and the tide had finally turned. The all consuming happiness that spread in Geralt's chest was so raw that it almost hurt, but this time he decided the pain was a part of life and as he embraced it, it slowly faded away and only left a calm satisfaction that would help him through the winter. </p><p>Soon, a pale autumn sun emerged from the horizon and bathed the green fields and the endless sea in a purple and golden light. Lettehove was a beautiful, a friendly place, no matter how rough the wind would be blowing during the coming months.</p><p>A sharp whistle rang from the courtyard and Geralt turned to see Anne of Lettehove and the three clumsy deerhounds, chasing their own tails. The Viscountess hadn't spotted him yet, but he immediately decided to join her. Her face lit up as she saw him, but there was still a cautious look that dimmed her green eyes.</p><p>“Good morning, Geralt. You're up early.”</p><p>“You too.” It still felt strange to face the woman who had allowed him to love her husband and he knew that this feeling was mutual. They needed time to overcome their mistrust and strengthen the fragile bond they had formed during the last days. But they would. “I will leave for the winter to take care of my daughter. Will you grant me the right to return in spring?”</p><p>Anne stared at him for a second and then a wry smile warmed her face. </p><p>“Sure”, she said and whistled again as one of the dogs tried to eat an undefined lump of muck. The animal obeyed immediately and returned, pressing its head to her leg, whining and crestfallen.  “Maybe you would like to bring your daughter, too?”</p><p>The Witcher thought about this for a while.</p><p>“I will ask her”, he promised. Maybe Ciri would like to spend some time in a woman's company. A fighting woman who would be an excellent rolemodel for the adolescent girl. “Will you get along?”, he inquired cautiously and hoped his tone was respectful enough not to upset her. Anne tilted her head and looked at him, eyes and face serious. Her hand rested on her swelling belly. It was a relief for Geralt to see that the gesture was soft and caring.</p><p>“There will be some challenges to face but this is life, I supposed.” The woman shrugged and absent-mindedly patted the dog's head with the other hand. “Would you do me a favour, Geralt? Could you find a mage who is be willing to travel to Norderfen and investigate the origin of the monster you slayed? I still fear for my sister's life.”</p><p>“Of course. I already promised her I would”, the Witcher confirmed. Anne heaved a sigh of relief and Geralt dared to ask: “Would you do me a favour, too? Could you find him a lute?”</p><p>The Viscountess tilted her head and her eyes narrowed as the considered his request.</p><p>“That is actually an excellent idea, now that his gout is finally getting better. I will send someone to Oxenfurt and get his instruments for him. Maybe -.” Anne bit her lip and looked very young again, insecure and sensitive. “Maybe he will heal again.”</p><p>“Maybe”, Geralt rumbled, suddenly being reminded that returning to Kaer Morhen meant leaving Jaskier in the care of a young, pregnant woman who had gone through hell, too. He had pushed away the thought with all his might but now it hit him with doubled force. Guilt rose in his soul and he gritted his teeth. “I could stay and help?”, he offered helplessly, but he knew his eyes gave away his inner discord.</p><p>Anne just patted his arm and smiled at him. For the first time on this morning, her eyes were completely warm and without any suspicion. She pointed at the large dogs who had begun to shoot her desperate and begging glances.</p><p>“Come on, Geralt, let's give these boys a proper walk and see what kind of provision Cook can prepare for your travel. Go see your family and just come back when you're ready. You will be always welcome in Lettehove.” Her next words were a mere whisper and it addressed both of them. “Everything will be fine.”</p><p>“Hmm”, the Witcher confirmed with a genuine smile and looked up into the sunlit autumn sky. “Everything will be fine.”</p><p>And he believed in it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Epilogue: A life worth living</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The three horses came to halt at the hillslope and Geralt drew a sharp breath. It was past midday and spring was in the air. The vivid green grass land was already covered in little tufts of white and yellow blossoms. Even Lettehove castle had changed. The Witcher could spot the stone foundations of several small buildings that had been carefully bedded into the fertile soil of the headland, grouped around of the small path that led directly to the castle. Building materials had been piled up, stone blocks, bricks, wooden beams. Some peasants were busy erecting the timber frame for something that looked like a large stall building.</p><p>“Busy place”, Eskel said and leaned over to elbow Geralt. “Nervous?”, he added, voice lower than before.</p><p>“Yeah”, the white haired man hummed and turned to meet his daughter's gaze. The girl - now a young woman - looked tired, but a large smile bloomed across her face as the spotted the ocean. She breathed in deeply and rolled her shoulders.</p><p>“Can we go now?”, Ciri grinned at him and waved her hand impatiently. Her light blonde hair flew in the stiff breeze. “I want to swim in the ocean as soon as possible. It's been too long.”</p><p>They drove their horses forward with soft vigour, as the animals were exhausted after the long travel. But as soon as Roach, Scorpion and Ciri's mare Starling noticed that water, feed and a break were in sight, their steps became lighter and the three riders soon crossed the natural bridge that led into the castle.</p><p>This time, the guards didn't stop them and just waved them through the gate to the lower courtyard. The sounds of everyday life greeted them. The clang of the smith's hammer on the anvil, the cackle of a wayward chicken that tried to escape one of the kitchen helps. Someone had erected training dummies in the yard and some members of the guard hacked at the stuffed figures with various degrees of determination. Their instructor yelled at them with a sharp voice, corrected their stances and finally dismissed them to eat and drink.</p><p>Geralt smiled as he recognised the tall, mud sprinkled figure in the dirty gambeson and the plate helmet who now strode over the courtyard to greet them.</p><p>“Who's that?”, Ciri whispered curiously. “Their master of arms?”</p><p>“No, that's the Viscountess”, Geralt responded and finally dismounted to meet the woman properly, taking her extended hand into his. “Anne, it's good to see you again”, he said plainly and it was the truth. The woman looked happy. Maybe a little annoyed about her guard's performance, but nevertheless tranquil. She was lean as ever, but she had obviously gained some muscle weight, as her handshake felt strong and confident. Her belly was flat again and as the woman noticed the Witcher's cautious glance, she hurried to explain:</p><p>“It's good to see you, too, Geralt. The whole family is just fine and eager to meet you.” Her smile lit her eyes and the Witcher felt immensely thankful that she had used her first words to alleviate his fears. There was a impatient harrumph behind his back and he turned to glare down at his daughter who impatiently tapped her foot at him.</p><p>“Lady Anne, this is Fiona, my ward”, he formally introduced the women and hid his grin as Ciri blurted out:</p><p>“Can I train here, Lady Anne? I need to practice every day.”</p><p>“Sure you can, Fiona”, the Viscountess nodded with a smirk, shook Ciri's hand and gave Geralt the 'Apparently she's your daughter” look the Witcher knew all too well now. Vesemir a true master of this kind of stare. “So, you must be – Eskel, I presume?”</p><p>Anne turned to meet Geralt's brother and Eskel bowed his head briefly.</p><p>“My pleasure, Lady Anne. I supposed Geralt described me sufficiently?” Whenever it came to the dark haired Witcher's outer appearance, Eskel tensed up and at wasn't any different this time. Geralt knew that his brother felt ashamed about the deep scars that disfigured his features that had once been flawless.</p><p>“No, he only mentioned he had two brothers in the School of the Wolf and you don't look like the 'special' one of them.” Anne grinned and extended her gloved fingers. Finally, Eskel shook her hand and his lips twitched slightly. “Glad I got it right, because otherwise it would be too embarrassing”, Anne added drily. </p><p>Geralt snorted and Ciri snickered.</p><p>“Oh, I will totally tell Uncle Lambert about this”, the girl exclaimed.</p><p>“No, you won't!”, the two Witcher's answered in unison, but Ciri just laughed harder and Eskel rolled his eyes good-naturedly. The Viscountess raised her eyebrows at the scene and turned to beckon the stable wards over to help with the horses.</p><p>“Geralt, you will find Julian in his study”, Anne suggested and held his gaze with ease before she turned away and addressed Quentin, the bailiff, who hurried over the yard to meet his Lady. The man didn't seem too pleased to meet Geralt again, but he was nevertheless good at his job, so the Witcher could easily overlook the bailiff's uneasiness.  “Quentin, we will need three rooms. And have the bath warmed up, please. Let Cook know we have guests and ask her to prepare something special for tonight.”</p><p>“Yes, Mylady.” The man stepped away and Geralt fought the impulse to follow him to the palas, but he knew where his responsibilities laid.</p><p>“Will you two get along?”, he asked and turned to see what Ciri and his brother were up to. Eskel's official excuse for coming to the coast with them was that he wanted to stock up an siren's vocal chords for potions, but Geralt knew his brother had only accompanied him because he wanted to make sure Geralt would be fine. He loved Eskel dearly for it.</p><p>Ciri had looked shocked when he had revealed that he was in love with a man. The young girl had thought about it for a minute and then decided she would be fine with a second father. She nevertheless had insisted with a smug grin that Geralt needed to make sure Jaskier would never order her to take over household chores at his castle.</p><p>Now, his daughter just clicked her tongue on him and his brother rolled his eyes again. That was everything Geralt needed for an answer and he hurried to make it to the upper courtyard and into the palas. He nearly bumped into a kissing couple in the courtroom and instantly recognized Violet and Pieter, the head of the castle guards. Both young people blushed deeply and shot him apologetic looks, being caught in flagranti. “Please continue”, the Witcher rumbled and grinned until he had finally reached the door of Jaskier's study.</p><p>There was music. The soft tune of a lute, rising and falling, masterfully composed and played. Geralt's hands suddenly felt unnaturally cold as his dared to knock at the study's door and then decided he couldn't wait and rushed in.</p><p>Jaskier sat on his chair, Filavandrel's lute carefully propped in his lap and his slender fingers had come to halt as soon as he saw his visitor. His blue eyes widened in shock and a joyous sound left his throat as he sprung to his feet and put the instrument on his desk. A second later, he threw himself in Geralt's arms and the Witcher's universe shrunk into just one perfect moment of joy and disbelief. Their lips met in a frenzy. Geralt hugged his bard close, unwilling to release what he had just found again. But he needed to see what his eyes didn't want to believe and so, in the end, as their trembling mouths parted, Geralt just held the Viscount at arms length and stared.</p><p>“You look -.”</p><p>“Dashing as always?”, Jaskier prompted and grinned playfully. He had kept the beard, but there were far less grey strand in his hair than the Witcher remembered. The signs of exhaustion on the Viscount's face were gone, as were the deep wrinkles in the corners of Jaskier's eyes and on his forehead. He looked younger. Not as young as he had been when they parted on Niedamir's mountain, but definitely wasn't the broken caricature of Geralt's beloved minstrel any more.</p><p>“Bard!”, Geralt groaned. He desperately longed for answers and found himself to be fobbed off with a tease. It was annoying, but wonderful because it reminded him of times he had considered long gone. And then there was another tease that left the Witcher speechless:</p><p>“Finally again, yes.”</p><p>They held each other for quite a while, with Geralt grinning and grumbling silent praises to Melitele or destiny or whatever had helped his bard, until Jaskier, sniffling and bouncing on his feet, took his hand without a moment of hesitation and led him up into the family's quarters. </p><p>“I will totally get you laid tonight”, the Viscount mumbled with a smirk and the Witcher's pulse quickened. “But first I need to introduce you to the one person who might ruin it, though.”</p><p>This time they went to the woman's quarters Geralt had never set a foot in until this moment. The large wood panelled room was equipped with a giant hearth, several colourful rugs and a collection of delicate furniture. A perfect place to keep the warmth inside.</p><p>A young woman with auburn hair sat in a chair next to the cradle. She looked up and rose her finger to her lips to signalize them to remain  silent. Jaskier nodded at her and both men sneaked closer to take a look at the sleeping infant. Geralt knew he wasn't quite the fatherly type, but seeing the small, helpless bundle on the soft woollen blanket did something to his heart he couldn't explain. The newborn had a lovely, rosy mouth and fine, blonde hair and even though she was really tiny, she seemed to be healthy and well fed. And that sweet smell most infants emitted – Geralt felt that his shoulders finally relaxed.</p><p>“Meet the little Lady, Sonia Malena, future Viscountess Lettehove. She was born earlier than expected, but she is doing excellent and you will soon notice she inherited her mother's piercing voice.” Jaskier whispered, grinning. He bent forward to place a tender kiss on the child's cheek. “What do you think?”</p><p>“She's – small”, Geralt hummed. He liked that the child had been named after the bard's mother.</p><p>“That's - correct”, the Viscount chuckled silently and gestured at Geralt to follow him. The two men retreated in mutual silence and finally looked at each other in the corridor. The Witcher felt that his face fell as something in his chest constricted painfully. Jaskier noticed it immediately. “What is it, love?”</p><p>“Will you – be able to leave her here?”, he muttered and felt like the most damnable person on the Continent. How could he feel jealous about a tiny infant girl? He dared to look in Jaskier's eyes and only found love and understanding there.</p><p>“I won't be easy”, the Viscount admitted with a crooked smile, but he caught Geralt's hand between his, caressing it with his thumbs. “But her mother will personally drag me out of this castle if I don't leave voluntarily for a while. She has turned out to be a real bore, you know? She planned the construction of a new stud farm during winter, she wants to open a coal mine and is buying tons of books about agriculture.” The Viscount shivered dramatically, but his smile was extremely fond. He was very proud of the woman he had married. “She is everything Lettehove needed. And more. She will take good care of our little Lady.”</p><p>“I am glad”, the Witcher said and closed his eyes, dismissing the sharp pang of fear and jealousy that had tortured him for a moment. “Winter was too long without you.”</p><p>The Viscount dabbed a chaste kiss on his chin, eyes sparkling with mirth and anticipation.</p><p>“You can't even imagine how much I missed you, my dearest Witcher. And I will show you. Later. Tonight. Tomorrow.” Jaskier's grin turned feral and Geralt gulped down a groan. “And the day after, perhaps, if I'm not too exhausted. But now shoo, get a bath and rinse off that lovely, but quite pervading Roach odour. We will meet tonight at the hall. I can't wait to meet your family, but mine demands attention now.”</p><p>The Witcher rolled his eyes, but he complied without contradiction, pressing a last tender kiss to Jaskier's forehead. He was indeed exhausted after a winter of hard work and travelling through half of the Northern Kingdom. His mind was spinning with all the new information and feelings he had been confronted with during the last minutes. So he retreated with a contemplative smile on his lips and searched for the rest of his chosen family.</p><p>Ciri had miraculously found Violet (or the other way round) and the two girls leaned on the kennels of the Eastern wall, chatting about something that suspiciously sounded like women's issues. Geralt sent another prayer to Melitele to help him with upcoming topics like menstrual cramps and first love. </p><p>Tracking Eskel on the lower courtyard was also easy. His brother had sent away the stable wards and and busied himself with taking care of their horses, brushing them down and checking their hooves for pebbles. His scarred lips showed a soft distorted smile as he heard Geralt approaching.</p><p>“So, how is your bard?”, Eskel asked, but he didn't look up while working. “Took you quite a while to find out you loved him.”</p><p>“He's fine. Thanks for constantly reminding me that I'm not the brightest member of the School of the Wolf”, Geralt growled, feigning his consternation rather badly. “Let's finish this together and let's have a bath.”</p><p>Eskel just laughed at him and the two brothers left a while later to do exactly what Geralt had suggested. The hours passed in a blur and finally, everybody reunited at the great hall. Geralt had decided to surprise Jaskier by wearing a new set of fine dark grey woollen clothing he had bought at a market in Kaedwen and as he caught the look of silent approval in the Viscount's cornflower blue eyes, he felt content and fuzzily warm.</p><p>He sat down next to Jaskier, Ciri at his other side. The girl wore her travel clothing as she hadn't cared to buy a new set as she was still growing, but she had also taken a bath and looked around with wide, nervous eyes. Spending a winter at a half destroyed keep was one thing, but returning to a life that clearly reminded her of her noble upbringing was another. Geralt gently touched her arm and she smiled at him, letting him know she was alright. They had made their peace during the last months and it had been an enormous relief that she finally had forgiven him.</p><p>Anne sat on Jaskier's left side and had Eskel as her other neighbour. Geralt feared that his brother wouldn't feel comfortable sitting at the high table, exposed to all the curious glances, but he relaxed as soon as he could overhear that the Viscountess and the dark haired Witcher had found a topic to talk about. Horses, apparently. And – goats?</p><p>Cook had surpassed herself with the preparation of the dinner and soon, the hall was filled with the smells of roasted boar, sweet pudding, winter vegetables, wine and mead. The castle inhabitants seized the opportunity to drink and relax after the hard winter. For them, the appearance of Witchers on their doorstep meant an evening of joy and Geralt wondered if, someday, more people would cherish his kin as the people of Lettehove did.</p><p>Later that evening, the young wet nurse appeared and brought little Sonia, who was awake, but yawned and whined lightly until Anne took her and cradled her in her arms. The noises in the great hall softened and even the toughest men in the room tried to calm down to not disturb the infant heiress. Geralt nearly choked on his beer as Anne finally rose to excuse herself and her daughter for the night and spontaneously chose Eskel to hold Sonia so that she could shove away her heavy chair with both hands.</p><p>The baffled look on his brother's face was something Geralt would never forget and as Jaskier whispered sweet his words in his ear, the Witcher knew that his life finally was worth living. It was the strangest and the best of emotions he had went through so far.</p><p>The future was bright.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this is the final chapter of this monster story. It was my first in this fandom and I would like to thank all of you for your ongoing support. You readers are so important and cherished so much!</p>
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